We Are the Night
by Kite
Summary: COMPLETE After six years at a Chinese wizarding school, chance brings Elizabeth Lee to her family's almamater, Hogwarts, for the last year of her education. But when Elizabeth gets mixed up in Slytherin politics...currently detail editing
1. The Sorting Surprise

A/N: I have removed and reposted this story for two reasons (all my reviews are gone!). #1, I re-read it and decided it needed a bit of plastic surgery to make it better. I hope this will help make this fic as good as it can be. #2, Some of it was out of line with the ending of OotP (most notably Lucius not being in Azkaban). I hope I have managed to fix it as well as possible in light of Ms. Rowling's refusal to cooperate with the events I laid out. :oP

Please let me know what you think. 167 reviews must be replaced! --Kite

_We are the night_

_Dark ocean filled with glints of light._

_We are the space_

_between the fish and moon,_

_while we sit here together._

-Jelaluddin Rumi

**Chapter One: Sorting Surprises **

"Noodles."

The word shook her from her own thoughts.

"Um, excuse me, Headmaster? Did you say 'noodles'?" The room had been silent so long that she had allowed her eyes to lose focus and her mind to float off of its own accord, examining the dark and dusty nooks of Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

"Yes, indeed, Ms. Lee," he replied, looking up from the bamboo-bound file on his desk with a warm smile. "I was just remembering my last trip to Zhong Mo Xue. The Headmaster there was a lovely man, uh, a Mr. Zhi I think. Made this remarkable dish with noodles. Never had anything quite like it. Really splendid."

She smiled. She had heard many stories from her father of Headmaster Dumbledore's eccentricities, but this had caught her slightly off guard. "Yes, um, chao mian, I think you mean. Headmaster Zhi always served it to guests."

"Yes, I think… yes." He seemed to lose himself in the memory for a few moments, pushing out a deep breath a sitting back. He looked haggard and, at the mention of the meal, a bit hungry. The lines in his face betrayed his age, but his eyes, sparking as they were, had a youth, a vigor, and a kindness she had never seen. Combined with the smile he had worn since their meeting that afternoon, she found herself able to relax and forget that she was now thousands of miles from the place she had so recently called home.

"Well, Ms. Lee, your record is very impressive," he sighed, gesturing towards the document that flowed off his desk and across the floor in bamboo cascades. "And, I must say, your Headmaster keeps painstaking records. This file of yours could be turned into an epic."

She smiled back, trying her best to look apologetic. It was true that Headmaster Zhi was renowned for his precision and crisp thoroughness; he'd even taken the time to translate all of her records in painstaking detail. It was somewhat amusing to imagine that Zhi and Dumbledore, two very different men, had once shared dinner and a conversation…

"I'm quite glad you were able to attend Hogwarts, Ms. Lee, even if it will be for only a single academic year. When your father wrote six years ago telling me you would be unable to attend due to his professional commitments, well, it was quite a disappointment."

She nodded. Her father, a specialist in the research of magical creatures and a particularly well-respected expert on dragons, had been sent to China for field study the very same year she'd been asked to attend Hogwarts. It had come as a blow to the family: the Lees had attended Hogwarts for more generations than could be remembered. "Yes, I'm glad. I'm lucky my father was called to take charge of the dragons for Azkaban. A bit too little too late in making the switch from Dementors, but…"

Dumbledore pursed his lips, fingers pressed together thoughtfully. "Indeed. Voldemort—"

She flinched, and he did not press further.

Yes, Even in China they had seen the signs. Her father sat down and explained things to her three years earlier when it seemed the Dark Lord had, once again, returned. _You-Know-Who has a long grasp. You're not safe from the darkness anywhere…_

And there were witches and wizards everywhere who were willing to follow—and to kill—in his name.

Dumbledore, seeming to regret the downturn of the conversation, took another elaborate breath and brightened the smile that had fallen away beneath his long beard. "Well, we're glad Fortune could bring you our way. Your father seemed quite pleased as well. He was practically bursting to see you wearing black robes and waving your little blue pennant at the Quidditch matches."

She didn't need to be told about her father's excitement. She had borne the brunt of it for the last four months. _Oh, you'll be able to go to a Quidditch match, won't that be grand? None of this rice and austerity for you, gal. No sir. You'll be able to have a good pudding and-oh and the feasts- _He'd gone on in that vein every day until today, when he had dropped her off at the castle gates, wishing her well. _You'll wow 'em, you will. Be the Head Girl before they know it, won't ya? You'll do us Ravenclaws all proud._

"I'm happy to be here as well, though, I admit, it's a little cooler than I'm used to." She had been wanting to summon her cloak from her trunk for some time but had thought it a bit too presumptuous to interrupt Dumbledore's thoughts…

He smiled, half-moon spectacles sliding down his crooked nose. "Good then. Well, if you're anything like me, I'd imagine you're about ready to get some food and have a nice nights sleep before classes start tomorrow."

In truth, it was almost all she had wanted for the last hour. She nodded.

"Well then, there's just one more matter to be addressed," he said, standing from his desk and walking across the room to a tall shelf. "The matter of your House."

The relief and hunger she'd finally allowed to flood her body froze. For as many generations as her family had attended Hogwarts, they had been Ravenclaws, every one of them. Her mother, her father, her grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, most distant of ancestors: all Ravenclaws. "Surely, Headmaster, that is already apparent."

He turned."Apparent?"

"Yes, I mean--"

But she wasn't precisely certain what she did mean. Her father had told her a hundred times that this Sorting Hat ceremonially placed each Hogwarts student into one of four houses. However, she had assumed…"I just thought I would be placed into Ravenclaw. Erm, transferred in."

"I see." The old wizard sat down at his desk once more, bemused. "Well, your family does have quite a history in Ravenclaw, don't they? And I know that your father was expecting…But don't you think you should give it a try?" He held the frayed hat out, blue eyes practically ablaze with twinkling. "You might surprise yourself."

She stared back, fidgeting with the ends of her robes. Surprising herself was the _last_ things she wanted today. Just some good food and sleep: no surprises. Besides, wasn't she the Ravenclaw type? Bookish, clever, reserved: all qualities her father had said were associated with a Ravenclaw. She certainly wasn't some grand Gryffindor or bubbling Hufflepuff. And she wouldn't even consider Slytherin. What did Dumbledore think would happen?

She took the hat warily, and both the Headmaster and the hat itself smiled. With a slight sigh, she placed the bizarre hat on her head, letting it slide down over her eyes and plunge her into darkness.

Hmm, very interesting. Oh my yes. I'd recognize a Lee anywhere. Ravenclaw then, shall I?

Yes, she thought backJust get it over with. That's where I belong.

You think so, do you? Well, I'm not so sure. I never would have thought a Lee…but yes there is definitely some bravery here, isn't there? There are some morals on you girl! But I do detect an overwhelming ambition…

But I'm clever, she insisted. I'm academic. Ravenclaw would be right, wouldn't it?

_You don't sound so sure, my dear. You are indeed intelligent. And clever, my. Yes quite clever. Hmm…but something else…yes, I know what it is, child. I've seen it many times before. Just perfect for a_ SLYTHERIN!

She tore the hat from her head and threw it on the desk in disgust. How could it have said that? It must have been a mistake.

But it said her name. It knew she was a Lee and still it thought she should be in…

No. Things had been different at Zhong Mo Xue. There, they had placed her in _Long Bu_—the Dragon's House—do to the rule of Fire elements in her body. Just some simple chiromancy, some diagnostic acupuncture…

And now she was supposed to listen to some silly old hat? She knew herself better than any worn-out piece of haberdashery ever could. It must have been a mistake. It _was_ a mistake. She picked the hat up again and shoved it down onto her head.

_Back again? Come now, didn't I already tell you?_

You're wrong, she insisted. I don't mean to be rude, but you're very mistaken. I'm not-

Clever? Cunning? Headed for great things? Oh, tsk, I think you know better…

But I'm not-

SLYTHERIN! It bellowed again, interrupting her mid-thought.

There was a long moment of silence before she removed the hat, seeing Dumbledore staring back at her, his face somber, eyes dampered to a slow smolder. "I see. Very surprising indeed."

"I'll say." Her head was tingling, misfiring each time it attempted some rational explanation for the hat's choice. What could be so bad about her? Ambitious: yes, that was true enough. But that could be a good thing, couldn't it? Didn't everyone want to do great things?

She pushed a sprig of red from her face absently. She had dreams of greatness: but that didn't mean she wanted to become You-Know-Who's right hand wizard or anything. Clever. Of course she was clever, and, at times, had crossed over the fine line into what some might call "cunning" or even downright "mischievous." In fact, she had even, she admitted to herself ruefully, studied a few old books on Hac Dao, the black arts. But it wasn't that she wanted to use it. Just… curiosity.

Hmm…but something else… 

She frowned. Her father had warned her about indulging curiosity in the Dark Arts. She should have listened.

"Well, I imagine the faculty will be most surprised," Dumbledore said, trying to regain at least his earlier tone if not his smile. "You're the first Lee in--well, as far as I know you're the first Lee ever to be put in--" He stopped, seeing the frown on her face deepen. "To be put anywhere but Ravenclaw."

What will Father say? _He wanted so much to envision me in that common room, in a blue stole at graduation…What will he think of me? _"Yes," she muttered, beginning to dread sending an owl home. She couldn't help but look down at her hands, examining them through weary eyes, wondering to whom they now belonged. Obviously, she wasn't the person he thought. She wasn't the person _she_ thought.

Dumbledore swept up from his desk once more and replaced the old hat on his shelves. With a slight grin at Fawkes the phoenix, he placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder.

"Well, Ms. Lee, I daresay Slytherin house is quite lucky to count you one of their own." His eyes still peeked over his half-moon spectacles, attempting reassurance, but even she could see the break in twinkles, the split-second hesitation. "It's a fine house and I hope you will be happy."

She nodded, beginning to accept the numbness in her limbs and skull. The numbness helped.

"Now, the Sorting Feast has finished, I'm sure, but if you'll follow me down to the Great Hall, I'm sure we'll be able to scrounge up something of a meal for you before you get to bed."

She followed the Headmaster through winding corridors and down staircases she was _sure_ had been in different places when she'd arrived. Zhong Mo Xue had been so different, filled with gardens and fountains and open-ceilings. Fresh air. This place was closed and dark—not to mention befuddling.

The Great Hall, though—that was different. It was empty, save some faculty still straggling at the head table, and their chattering voices echoed off massive yet elegant stone walls. Above, the ceiling churned with clouds and stars, mimicking the uneasy night sky. For a moment, the tingling in her limbs was not numbness but awe.

"Ahh, Albus. We thought you'd never make it back."

While she paused, eyes up, Dumbledore was already walking towards the head table, smiling at the rather severe-looking witch who addressed him. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I was-- _reviewing_ Ms. Lee's file for quite some time. It was extremely-" He searched. "_Extensive_."

The severe woman's face cracked into something of a smile. "I see. Well, glad you could finally make it. I saved you a small plate--"

But Dumbledore had already begun to shovel a rather large spoonful of peas into his mouth. "Ahh, Minerva, you are truly one of the great witches of the age. I'm absolutely starving," he was barely able to mumble through an odd mixture of carrots and beef. "Oh, and Severus," he added before an admirable draw of pumpkin juice, "I'm afraid you'll have to look over her file as well, sometime. I've got it just here."

Suddenly, the only sound at the table was that of Dumbledore's enthusiastic chewing. The Headmaster didn't stop chomping, even as he fumbled through his robes, producing the bamboo file.

"And why, sir, would I need to do that?"

This voice, calculated and rigid, owed itself to a lean wizard whose hair hung lank and dirty about his face.

"It appears, Severus, that Ms. Lee will be in your house this year. I thought perhaps you would be so kind as to keep this in the Slytherin files for me."

All eyes darted, sidelong and wide, attempting to speak without a word. Only _his_ eyes remained on her, and she felt, suddenly, as if she earnestly needed to pull her robes closer.

"Well, I must say that's surprising," the thin wizard said at last. His breaths were long and slow, his body rising and falling like a lion ready to pounce. He had turned and the entire weight of his shadowy figure was square on her shoulders. "The Lees are a Ravenclaw family, are they not?"

She fidgeted: it was precisely the reaction she expected. Even he knew she wasn't really a Slytherin. He knew she didn't fit. She wasn't Slytherin material, that's what he was thinking, and she certainly wasn't inclined to disagree…

"Yes, well, apparently Ms. Lee has defied the tradition."

A tactful way to put it indeed. A very _nice_ way of saying that she was the rotten apple.

"Uh, forgive me, Ms. Lee," the Headmaster said quickly, dabbing with some finality at the corners of his mouth. "I seem to have forgotten myself. Desperation of hunger, you know. This is Professor Severus Snape. He is the head of the Slytherin house and will be your Potions Master as well."

She nodded, keeping silent. He was still burning into her, eyes as bad as dark coals on pale skin. She allowed herself only a quick glance in return. A gray halo of cloud swirled just above his head.

"Pull up a chair, Ms. Lee, and have a bite," offered a plumpish woman, thick hands warm on her back. "You must be quite hungry."

She tried again to feel soaked with the numbness, but the thin wizard's sneering eyes seemed to have raised her defenses. "Actually, I'm—tired. I'd prefer to get to my room, if that's alright." It wasn't a lie. Not only had she completely lost her appetite, but she was now feeling rather ill.

Dumbledore smiled. "I understand, my dear. Nothing will do you better than a good sleep. Severus, if you would, show her up to the Slytherin common room, give her the password, and find her a suitable dormitory."

The gaunt wizard looked about as eager to do this as she was to have him do it.

"I don't want to trouble you, Professor. If you could just tell me the way-"

"Follow me." He swept up from the table and, taking the thick file from Dumbledore, tromped from the Great Hall in a whirl of black robes.

Well, he certainly knew how to make an exit: dramatic if not polite.

She looked over once more at the Headmaster, wanting to see that mysteriously reassuring twinkle once more. The old wizard swallowed hastily and gave her a little wink, but the twinkle still betrayed something. "Good night, Miss Lee." He seemed to consider this something for a moment longer and then silently mouthed the words "good luck."

With a sigh, she steeled herself and took off after Snape. She could feel him lurking just outside the grand hall doors, batlike and sneering. It was as if his sallow aura seeped even through those great stone walls.

And indeed he waited, thin lips pursed, his entire form blending into shadow. Without a word, they walked spiral staircase after spiral staircase, always descending. Lili couldn't help feeling lost again, moving always lower and lower underground.

"There seem to be several instances of rule-breaking and tardiness in here," he said at last, frowning but never turning his eyes up from the file. "I hope those things are behind you now." He bit off the sentence, letting her know she needn't reply.

"And where is this place 'Zoong Moe Zoee'?"

"Zhong Mo Xue," she corrected, trying to sound respectful but only managing to croak slightly.

He turned.

"In China."

He kept her gaze for a moment, then returned to his mulling. "Your academics, on the other hand, are quite exemplary. In the top of your class?"

"Yes, sir." She kept the reply simple, still trying to keep track of all the staircases they'd taken and suits of armor they'd passed. She swore they'd turned left at the same statue of Serafina the Squalid at least four times.

And on top of that, it was freezing. She breathed out to see her own breath. _Well at least it isn't that cold_. She pulled her robes as close to her goose-pimpled skin as she could, and mentally marked down a right turn at the strange statue of the goblin standing on an anvil.

"Your Potions marks are quite impressive."

This time, in his severe tone, the statement became a question. "Yes, um, it's my favorite subject, actually. I did quite a bit of extra work with my Potions Mistress as Zhong Mo Xue."

"I see. Well perhaps you will be a more pleasant surprise than I'd anticipated, Ms. erm, Elizabeth Lee, is it?"

She wanted to ask him what that was supposed to mean, but decided against it. "Actually, sir, I go by Lili."

The Potions Master stopped, taking a moment before he allowed his sunken face to turn toward her, ever so slightly. His eyes, oblique, wavered. "Lily?"

"Y-yes, Lili. It's the name I was given in China. Sort of sounds like E_li_zabeth _Lee_." She was unsure whether to continue, but, seeing his eyes falter a moment, she pressed. "Something wrong, sir?"

"No, but perhaps we best stick to Ms. Lee."

"Yes, sir."

He let the file fall to his side and didn't examine it again. They walked down the remaining two staircases in silence, passing more paintings and suits of armor that she was sure she wouldn't remember, before they stopped at a bare stone wall.

"Here we are," he said, and, when she said nothing in return, he gestured towards the stones as if explaining things to a slow child. "The password is _Parseltongue_."

A door concealed in the stone wall rolled open, revealing a quiet room glowing in firelight. As she entered, she was given to wonder if all the common rooms had the same eerie feel, the same dim chill. The room was long and narrow, green lamps hanging from the ceiling, casting an uneven, sickly tint on the walls. Several tapestries covered the rough stones, one of a coiled serpent, one of some sort of crest, and one of a thin, stern man who, while he bore little resemblance to this Potions Professor, stared back at her just as flatly. Across from the door was a tall fireplace, mantel elaborately carved from black marble. As she approached it, she could see that what at a distance had appeared to be intricate flourishes were, rather, serpents, intertwining, staring back from above the roaring flames with glimmering, emerald eyes. The high-backed chairs around her were empty, covered in plush green and silver velvet cushions.

"That's some Freudian obsession with snakes," she mumbled low enough not to be heard. She ran her hand over the smooth back of a chair and stepped closer to the fire.

"Meet with your approval?"

The fire had immediately suffused her shivering body with a delicious warmth. She felt her muscles loosen, all at once sleepy and more herself. "It's much more comfortable than our rooms at Zhong Mo Xue, thank you, sir," she said, finally working up the courage to raise her eyes to his.

Manic shadows were dancing across his already unnaturally pale features, causing his skin to flicker between extreme light and dark. She might have easily dismissed him had it not been for the slight curve tugging at the side of his whitened lips. It was the idea of a smile, and she could see it clearly, even if he was trying to conceal it. She felt, for a moment, as if his eyes could see clear through into her head.

"Sir?"

His own body had relaxed a bit it seemed, and he was leaning lazily against the fireplace. "Why are you in Slytherin, Ms. Lee?"

The question seemed to hang, palpable in the air, almost visible in the sickly green light of those ceiling lamps. She should have known he wasn't relaxing: he was coiling, like a serpent, before a strike.

"A good question, Professor," she sighed, too tired and weak to return the challenge. But she kept smiling. His bluntness somehow satisfied her. If nothing else, she respected that. She had expected something more covert, more sly and sideways. _More serpentine?_ Oh Merlin, even she was getting caught up in this snake obsession.

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and find out."

He straightened up and stood looking down at her, an intensity in his eyes that she couldn't understand. Somehow she felt he was testing her, and she musn't look away, no matter how unnerved those black eyes made her, deep and inscrutable as tunnels, flashing in the firelight…

"Ms. Bulstrode, Ms. Morrighan," he said loudly, without moving his eyes.

Lili turned away.

Two girls had appeared from behind a high-backed chair, looking a bit embarrassed and red-handed. One was dumpy, with ruddy cheeks and dull eyes. The other stood tall and bone-thin, skin white and thin as paper. "Yes Professor?"

Lili was quick to note that, now, she would have to watch her back. There were no words that were not heard…

"There is a bed free in your room this year is there not?"

"Yes, professor," answered the heavy girl, shadow of her angular jaw jutting monstrously over her neck.

"Very well then. Miss Lee here will be staying in that bed this term. She's been transferred here from a magic school in China, so try and—" He paused. "Accommodate her a bit."

The sweet looks the girls had worn dissolved. Their eyes twinkled, a mockery of the twinkle she'd seen in the Headmaster's eyes earlier.

_Break her in_, that's what he'd meant. _See what she's really made of._

Well, if that's what he wanted, she'd give it to him. Pulling herself up to her full height, she gave a curt, emotionless nod. Warm and challenged, she found her voice strong and firm for the first time since her arrival. "Thank you, Professor. I look forward to your class tomorrow." She met his dark eyes once again, this time with greater force.

If this reaction surprised him, he didn't show it. He simply nodded back, shooting the other two girls one last look between scolding and collusion. As he exited, silently, his shadow raked across Lili's feet, as if, for a second, the darkness was beginning to swallow her up.

It was a frustrating illusion, she told herself, but only an illusion yet.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she picked up her trunk and, whipping her eyes between the two girls, forced what she considered must be a Slytherin smile; --both a grin and a sneer. "Shall we?"

The two girls finally, and without a word, led her upstairs.


	2. Potions with Potter

**Chapter Two: Potions with Potter **

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when Lili woke, stepping through her bed curtains to realize that it had not been a dream. She was still in the Slytherin dormitory, still sleeping in the bed between a girl that greatly resembled a ghost and one that snored so loudly Lili was amazed anyone in the room could sleep a wink.

She was a Slytherin, and that was that.

Faintly saddened, she went through what had been the normal routine at Zhong Mo Xue. She stretched, changed into her robes, and took several moments to write letters to a few friends as well as –and less enthusiastically—one to her father, informing him as succinctly as possible about the unexpected turn of events. The other four girls around her continued to toss and turn in their beds.

Her mind was tumbling over itself, her body shaking, nervous and excited. Slowly, taking several deep breaths, she sat on the floor just beside her bed and closed her eyes, letting her mind rise and fall with the movement of her lungs.

_You can get used to anything, Lili_, she reassured herself through the cooling breaths. She remembered those first few months at Zhong Mo Xue: they had not been pleasant. Or easy. This was just another challenge to endure. She pulled in deeper breaths and felt her muscles melt. There was no need for tension. Slytherin or not, she could get through one year of _anything_.

She smiled, sunlight filtering slightly through the darkness of her closed eyes.

"What are you doing up so early?"

Lili took one last deep breath before opening her eyes to see the girls from the previous evening watching her, standing beside each other, looking murderous. "The early bird gets the worm," she sighed, wishing, in spite of the large girl's rather jarring snore, that they would both go back to sleep.

The bigger of the two stepped forward, her sizeable frame causing the floorboards to creak. "Yeah, but the early worm gets eaten."

Lili didn't miss the glint in those beady eyes. No, it wasn't witty repartee. This was a threat. She stood, stretching herself to a height that proved only slightly taller than the ogre-like young woman. "Then perhaps all _worms_ should go back to bed."

The heavy-set girl grimaced, but the retort seemed to please her companion.

"Uh, Millicent, isn't it?" Lili continued, turning away from the girls and concentrating on her mass of hopeless red hair, jutting at strange angles from a fitful sleep. "Could you please tell me where exactly breakfast will be served this morning?"

But Millicent was examining her, showing her protest in a silence.

"It'll be in the Great Hall, where the feast was last night," the ghost-like girl chimed in finally, her unusually large, black eyes seeming a bit kinder.

_Seeming: the keyword apparently in Slytherin_.

Lili forced a half-smile. "And you're—" But she couldn't remember.

"Dia. Dia Morrighan."

"Oh, yes, Dia. I'm sorry," she replied, fixing her hair sloppily with a silver pin. "I'm Lili."

"Lili, right. Uh, what were you doing just then, I mean sitting there?"

It sounded like genuine curiosity, and, being genuine, it seemed somewhat out of place in Slytherin-- as if it didn't quite fit the décor. "It was an exercise we did every morning at my old school. It's called _Jiaoju_. It's supposed to help with _wuzhang_."

Millicent abandoned her protest in favor of poison. "We speak English here."

"I don't exactly know the English word for it. Wuzhang is simple magic without an external focus—without a wand. What do you call it here?" She was trying her best not to sound embarrassed by her own ignorance.

"You can do magic without a wand?" Dia shot Millicent a quick look.

"Of course, it was a basic course at Zhong Mo Xue. You don't learn that here?"

"You can_not_. You can only do magic without a wand if you are very afraid or emotional: everyone knows that."

"That's not entirely true," Lili said, trying to direct her attention back to Dia who seemed a little less incredulous. "If you have the ability to focus your own emotions and magical abilities internally, then you don't need an outside focus—like a wand or even a charm—at least, not for the simplest spells. That's _wuzhang_. And the way you learn to focus internally is through concentration exercises—like _jiaoju_. You're telling me you've never learned anything like that?"

Dia shook her head, saucer-eyes becoming, if possible, wider."So, you don't have a wand or anything?"

"No, I have a wand. Magic with a wand is still a lot more complex than anything you can through _wuzhang_. I'd say _wuzhang_ can handle the sort of charms you learn in your first year. And besides, _wuzhang_ is much more draining and difficult than wand magic." She her wand from the folds of her robe, moving it lightly through her fingers. "Bamboo, 10 and a quarter inches, with combination dragon heart-string and demiguise hair core." As she moved it through the air, it glowed a muted silver.

"Huh," Dia snorted, leaning in for a closer look. "How does it make that silver stuff? It looks familiar…"

"It's the demiguise hair. Demiguises are everywhere in China, but of course it's hard to find them because they're, well, invisible. They use demiguise hair to make invisibility cloaks too."

Dia nodded as if remembering. "Yes, it's just like an invisibility cloak. My grandfather used to have one. It was that same kind of silver." She grinned, revealing slight dimples in her paper skin. "My brother and I used to pinch it from out of Gramp's closet and hide. He'd run all over the place looking for us: it was loads of fun."

"Geez, Dia, was that right before the tea party with your teddy?" Millicent spat, looking over the two of them sourly. "Besides, I don't buy any of this Chinese hocus-pocus. Wands with invisible silver hairs? 'Concentration exercises'—and everyone knows you can't do magic without a wand. Not with any predictability."

"You're wrong."

As soon as the words had left Lili's mouth, she was sure Millicent would reel off any number of curses in her direction. Or maybe come at her with those meaty fists. But, to Lili's surprise, Millicent merely smiled, flip. "Alright then, prove it."

Lili was caught off guard, surely a deadly mistake in Slytherin. She didn't feel like exerting the energy to prove anything: she was tired still and nervous.

But, at the same time, a small, irresistible part of her yearned to humiliate this brat into leaving her alone. Maybe a little show, to keep the dogs at bay…

Slowly, taking deep, warm breaths, she sat and closed her eyes. After a few seconds, she began to feel her breath growing hot. A fire tingled in her stomach and, inside her brow, tiny blue dots floated, coalesced into a glowing, devouring flame.

She opened her eyes and looked for a mark.

Millicent smirked so wide it seemed her face might crack in two. "See, I told you. You can't do magic without a—"

But her final word was interrupted by the sound of fire erupting violently across the room. One of the four-posters was completely engulfed in blue flame, crackling loudly enough to wake the other two girls with a start.

"My bed!" Millicent cried, rushing to her bed clumsily, fanning at the flames with her hands, as if, somehow this meager wind would put them out. "What the hell are you doing? You're going to ruin—"

"Relax," Lili sighed, taking in a deep breath. As she exhaled, there was a rush of wind, and the flames disappeared as quickly as they had come.

Ten eyes—including Dia's round gaze—turned on her.

The hypnotized stillness lasted only a moment, however. Millicent spun on thick heels, muscles straining to break across her jaw. "You could have ruined my bed, you daft—"

"Relax," Lili repeated, gesturing towards Millicent's four-poster which was, now, perfectly normal. "That was illusion fire. It couldn't have hurt your bed --unless I'd _wanted_ it to."

It was a lie; illusion fire was always harmless—but perhaps it would have the effect desired. She couldn't help but sneer a little herself, looking at the girl's angular, jutting mouth drawn taut with rage. As angry as Millicent seemed however, Lili guessed the point was enough to keep her quiet for a while. As the others turned away, still blinking into consciousness, she smiled. Well, at least this demonstration might hold off their cruelty, for a while anyway. In the pit of her stomach, Lili felt a small laugh stifle itself with the knowledge that even these tough Slytherins were intimidated by her.

Yet, a part of her knew that something was wrong. She was being petty, and backbiting, and—no, she would never have done something like that at Zhong Mo Xue.

--But then again she had never found herself surrounded by people who understood only that might made right. And if she had to prove to them that she could hold her own, then, so be it.

Resolved, and looking around the room, feeling focused, she caught Dia's doleful, black eyes, and couldn't help but grin a little at the lingering surprise she still spied there.

"So, shall we go to breakfast?"

* * *

The breakfast was almost completely alien to her--oatmeal, eggs, and bacon. She stared at her plate for several minutes, and poked at it disconcertedly for several more before resolving to take a little of the oatmeal and wait till lunch. ("What, you've never seen anything besides rice?' Millicent had quipped. She had not, however, mustered the courage to say this any louder than a mumble.)

And something even more unsettling than the rather unusual, greasy breakfast—her first class was Potions with the rather unusual and greasy Professor Snape. It was a double class with the Gryffindor seventh-years.

In fact, it wasn't until she was sitting in the dank dungeon classroom that smelled of a hundred, fermented potion ingredients, that it occurred to her. _Harry Potter_. He was the same age as she: he would be in this class. She had heard stories about him from her father, but even as far away as China people knew the name of the Boy Who Lived. And even all the way across the world, the young man was regarded with a general sense of awe…

Indeed, almost as soon as Lili had taken a seat beside Dia and Millicent, a tall, skinny young man sauntered into the Hall, looking none too happy over round glasses. He seemed to be listening intently to a mousy-haired young girl who spoke to him in low tones. Behind them, an even taller boy, red-hair glowing like torchlight and freckled face drawn in frustration, seemingly at whatever the girl was going on about.

"That's Harry Potter."

"You _do_ know who Harry Potter is, don't you?" Millicent spat, not taking her beady eyes of the tousle-haired boy across the room.

"Of course."

"He's a real twit," she continued, venom practically dripping from her lips. Lili was glad that, finally, Millicent seemed to dislike someone more than her. "I mean prancing around here like he owns the place. He won't stand a chance if You-Know-Who ever gets a hold of him."

Lili glanced over at Dia to see if she would confirm this statement, but Dia was rather busy talking with a pale, blonde boy behind them.

"Professor Snape, though, he's the only professor that doesn't fawn over that Potter – or any of those other nasty Gryffindors. This is my favorite class, just for that reason." Seeing that Lili didn't seem too interested, her voice grew more intense. "Those other two are his little henchmen. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." She said the girl's last name with such disdain that Lili was afraid to turn and see the horrible look that must surely be contorting Millicent's already none-too-pleasant face. "The only thing worse that Harry-bloody-Potter is that Granger. One of these days—"

But Lili wasn't listening. Harry had suddenly caught her gaze, and she looked away quickly, heart pounding, cheeks going red. She wasn't sure why this embarrassed her so, but it was several minutes before she allowed herself to look back up at him.

He wasn't looking in her direction anymore, but was leaning forward as the red-haired boy whispered something, eyes darting between Lili and Harry.

_They're talking about me_. Her insides burned, and she had to take several more deep breaths before she felt calm again. What could they be saying? What could they _possibly _have to say about her?

"You're new."

It was a long, overly-elocuted voice from behind her, and she felt Dia's thin fingers tapping her shoulder. She turned, finding herself face to face with a slender young man, almost as ghostly white as Dia. An eyebrow raised momentariliy as he flashed what must he must have considered a winning smile.

It took Lili a while to muster anything similar. "Uh, yes, I am. Lili."

"I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is Crabbe," he gestured half-heartedly towards a house-sized young man beside him. "And this is Goyle." Another leviathan.

Lili nodded, unsure of how to respond. She was well enough acquainted with the name Malfoy to know that her father had never used it in connection with anything positive.

The pale boy made no attempt to hide his disapproving appraisal. "You were in China? I bet that was dreadful. Is it true that you can perform curses without a wand?" A slight smirk.

_News travels fast_, she wondered, giving Dia and Millicent an uneasy look. _Must be another charm of Slytherin_.

"Sometimes I can perform simple curses without a wand, but it's very difficult." She straightened a little, trying to shift back into confidence. "And China wasn't dreadful. It was wonderful. We certainly didn't have any classrooms as dank and smelly as this."

"I'm sorry the classroom isn't to your liking, Ms. Lee, but, if you could, I'd appreciate you muddling through somehow."

Lili snapped around only to see Professor Snape lurking behind his desk, addressing her dangerously over a now quiet, assembled class. Lili felt her pale cheeks flush, but bit her tongue hard so as not to seem too embarrassed.

"Now, this is your last year here," Snape continued, flitting his eyes off her and letting his scowl fall evenly across the room. "And, since you dunderheads have wasted the last six years fumbling over basics, we're going to be forced to _triple _our workload this year to make up for your lamentable --yet, I confess not unexpected-- lack of skill. Let's not waste any time, then." He cleared his throat. "We're on page 612, starting with the most complex of the Petrification serums. The advantages of using this as opposed to the other formulations you're _supposed_ to have mastered are–"

Lili found her attention wandering as Snape went on about eye of this and finger of that. They had covered these potions two years previous at Zhong Mo Xue, and she saw no reason to listen to Snape's rather dull lecturing if she didn't have to. Instead she let the words sift through her ears, and found herself daydreaming, remembering her after-hours potions apprenticeship with Mistress Yang…

"Miss Lee, why don't you tell us."

She certainly hoped she hadn't jumped at hearing her name. Snape leaned forward on his desk, shoulders taut like a hunting tiger. "Miss Lee?"

Her tongue curled and fumbled before she was finally able to open her mouth. She searched her ears for some lingering hint of the question. "Um, powdered horn of ki-lin."

Snickers erupted, mostly from the students on the Gryffindor side of the room, but several from near her, including from Millicent.

"That's correct."

Everyone looked around, glancing between Snape and Lili as if something didn't add up.

He scrawled the words across the blackboard with an air of indulgence. "The horn of the ki-lin has all the appropriate properties necessary,however you might run into a problem if you do not have a considerable amount of Galleons in Gringotts. To get a ki-lin horn from the Orient to England is quite difficult and costly, Miss Lee." He turned about again, eyes hitting hers like an arrow straight to its mark. "What would one use if one needed to use somewhat cheaper materials?"

He was staring straight at her, prompting her to respond again, the same look of intensity he had held her in the night before. Another test.

Though she should have felt nervous with all the eyes boring into her and the sound of Draco quipping "Why don't you ask Weasley, he'd know about anything cheap", Lili couldn't help but feel a little surge of electricity. She always felt most confident when challenged. And _this _was her arena. She swallowed, thinking.

"Basilisk scales in the right ratio would work, but I suppose that would also be a little costly…I guess the most common English equivalent of ki-lin horn would be dragontooth. But it might be cheaper to try the tooth of a dog charred in a fire for a while...sometimes that has the same effect." She felt very grateful that she had decided to flip through her Potions textbook a week ahead of time to learn some of the English terms and traits of ingredients. She felt even more grateful that her previous Potions Mistress had been a bit of a penny-pincher and had made sure to teach her a variety of cheaper alternatives to ingredients deemed _tai gui._

The class looked away from her and back up at Snape, waiting to see who would win this showdown.

The Potions Master might have been impressed, but he managed to seem only vexed. "Indeed, though I think, for this potion, we might want to stick with _dragontooth_." He turned away, with a growl, continuing several equations on the board.

Lili felt her own breath once more.

"A dog tooth? What kind of magic do they _do _in China?" Millicent whispered in Draco's direction.

She was too relieved to let Millicent bother her. Relaxing again, she watched Snape scribble across the board. It was one of the few opportunities she'd had to examine him without having to dodge his heavy eyes. Even in the low light of the dungeon, his hair was shining with grease, bouncing limply as he wrote. She imagined his face, pressed near the chalkboard, hooked nose dusted with white. He certainly wasn't a pleasure to look at, but he--well, he was a puzzle, and her natural curiosity took hold, even at the objection of her judgment. She hoped that the entire year would not be filled with this type of anxious antagonism, but, if it was, at least she knew she was somewhat up to snuff.

She was surprised to feel herself jump slightly when he turned from the board, as if caught doing something she oughtn't. Luckily, he didn't seem to notice.

"I'll break you into pairs now, and I want a Potion of the correct color and thickness by the end of the class—and no, I don't want it splattered all over the walls, Longbottom."

A rather chubby young man in the front row slumped at his desk.

"Alright, Granger and Malfoy."

Behind her Lili heard a moan. _Please put me with Dia._ Dia didn't seem too bad, and she certainly beat Millicent…

"Longbottom and Bulstrode."

"Oh bugger," Millicent whispered under her breath. _Please put me with Dia._

"Patil and Morrighan."

Her lips parted slightly at the realization. He was purposely pairing Slytherins with Gryffindors. She frowned. It seemed needlessly malicious…

"Weasely and Goyle."

A grunt from behind her.

Snape paused, looking up for only a second. "Potter and Lee."

She stayed still for a moment, watching Snape as he continued down his parchment, checking off names with his quill. What possible reason could he have to stick her with Harry Potter? Was this another test? If so, why not stick her with this Longbottom boy who seemed the most hopeless of all?

The tall boy trudged over to her, unenthusiastic squeak of shoe leater with every step. "Alright, then, shall we take that one over there?" He pointed towards a cauldron in the back corner of the room, conspicuously close to his red-headed friend.

Lili stood. "How about over there?" She gestured towards a cauldron on the opposite side of the room, near to no one else.

He sighed and nodded, adjusting the flasks and bottles under his arm with only the hint of a sulk.

They worked in relative silence for a long while, exchanging only the occasional direction.

"Two not three."

"No, stir clockwise."

"I think it's six times—no, wait, it says—"

"Seven, yes, I know."

In the translucent steam of the cauldron, Lili felt more at ease. In fact, she began concentrating so intently on the potion, she forgot all about Snape, lurking around the room, pouncing on the helpless. She breathed deep: a thick smell of musk, the distinct sweetness of newt liver and the stiff, brittle aroma of fairy wing.

There was a reason, she reminded herself, to love Potions. The heat radiated up from the cauldron, coating her face.

"Is-- it true that you can perform the Unforgiveables without a wand?" It was a question he had been, apparently, keeping in to the point of bursting.

"Isn't it true that you're a complete jerk who thinks he's a big, important celebrity?" she said, matter-of-factly, only looking up at him after the potion was at a steady simmer. "I mean, that's what I've heard."

He forced a crooked grin, but only for a moment. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't listen to rumors and—it's just that, well—"

She arched her eyebrow at him before continuing with the potion. "What?"

"Well, you're in Slytherin, aren't you?" he pressed, adding a pinch more dragontooth to darken the concoction. "I mean, you're a Lee, you should have been in Ravenclaw…"

She gingerly picked out the dragontooth with some exasperation. "You don't need that much, it's dark enough already. And because I'm in Slytherin, there must be something wrong with me?"

The boy bit his lip, running a hand through his disheveled black hair, rumpling it in a seeming attempt to mask his discomfort. "Well, I mean you _are_ in bad company. Bulstrode and Morrighan and Malfoy."

"What's wrong with Morrighan and Malfoy?" She could understand disliking Millicent, but Dia and Draco seemed perfectly cordial. So far at least.

The boy rounded on her as if she had just uttered some horrible curse. "What, are we talking about the same people? Dia is an absolute snob of a girl. Those rumors about you, wouldn't surprise me if she started them. And Draco, I mean, come on."

"What do you mean?"

The boy's brow furled so tightly that the question seemed almost painful to him. "I mean he's no good. A jerk, a snob. He's into all this pureblood stuff. Thinks he's royalty because his family is rich and powerful. It's all dark arts with him. A rotten apple, you know?"

Lili glanced quickly across the room at Malfoy, bent over his cauldron, taking directions from the skinny, mousy-haired girl beside him. "Malfoy knows the Dark Arts?" She wondered how much he knew and if he had studied them, on the side, like she had, out of curiosity.

This question perplexed Harry even more. "Um—well—I don't have proof, but, I mean –his family—his father was a Death Eater and—"

"And because his father was bad, he must be bad as well?"

"Well, no—"

"We can't all have perfect, loving families," Lili sighed, letting her gaze fall back to the bubbling cauldron. She thought only briefly about her mother living somewhere in France now, with two stepsons.

"Look, it's not that," Harry insisted, gritting his teeth a little and waving some steam away from his face. "I didn't mean to offend you, I just figured there must be some _reason_ you're in Slytherin. And as for Draco, you know. He's mean-spirited. You should hear the things he says about—well, for starters, about my friends."

The cauldron was swirling madly, a deep black. Lili pulled out her long spoon and removed her dragonhide gloves with a calculated motion. A _reason _she was in Slytherin. She had yet to discover what, exactly, was so much better about Gryffindor.

"I wonder if it's anything as mean-spirited as what you and your friends say about him. Or me."

The boy's bright eyes met hers, green mirrors facing each other into infinity. He opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that resounded was not his; it was one of silk and ice.

"Well, I see you two have finished."

Lili turned and met Snape's lank yet still somehow imposing form. He was almost a foot taller than her, and looking up, she could barely make out his eyes over the mountain of his nose. He was looking at Harry, who whose face was drawn tight and flustered, and then back at her. She drew her lips tight in an attempt to hide her emotions.

A slight smile cracked his face.

"Excellently done," he remarked, examining the potion only perfunctorily. "It looks like you can get things right with Miss Lee's help, Mister Potter. Perhaps you should consider her tutoring you in the afternoons."

Harry scowled. "I have Quidditch practice."

"Five points for Slytherin."

Harry looked up, but Snape's hard eyes and sadistic sneer evoked only quiet seething. The young man turned and left. Lili was glad to note that only Draco and Harry's female friend, cauldron already clean and upturned, were listening.

Turning back to herself, Lili, though she tried hard not too, smiled. Snape had been on _her_ side: he had stood up for her. It was enough to make her glance up, looking past the greasy hair, searching for something she had missed.

Sensing her green eyes poking around at him, Snape stiffened and met Lili's face with a hard but not angry look. "Well done, Ms. Lee. You've certainly proved to be more than I expected."

It was a half-compliment, and she could only nod, suspecting that that sort of thing didn't pass his lips often. Tucking her books under her arms and trying to seem nonchalant, she walked away towards Dia and Millicent waiting wide-eyed at the door. She caught only a quick flash of Harry Potter's green eyes as he exited, flanked by his concerned friends.

Her hands shook and she felt flush. Maybe she'd been to hard on Potter. But she couldn't accept the continued assumptions that something was wrong with her. And besides, she'd meant every word.

Snape seemed to agree anyway. Whether he had been complimenting her because of the potion or the vexed Potter, she wasn't sure. But either way, she was proud of her work.

Beside Dia, pale Draco stood like a twin ghost. He, too,watched her, eyebrow still arched, lips pursed. He was still examining, and she wondered what in the world he was trying to figure out.

Perhaps things might work out for her, even in Slytherin. _Better in Slytherin than Gryffindor_, she heard herself thinking. She had a sneaking suspicion that the Gryffindors liked to feel they were the beating, courageous heart of the school-- of the world.

And that isn't me.

And why should anyone think badly of her just because she was in Slytherin?

She met Draco's pale appraisal and nodded a little.

No, perhaps she had found a proper place.

She felt Snape's eyes on her back as she walked out the Dungeon door.


	3. The Dragon and the Bat

**Chapter Three: The Dragon and the Bat**

All her remaining classes went as she'd expected. Transfiguration would certainly be her most challenging—but nothing she wouldn't enjoy. Arithmancy, taught by Professor Vector, was interesting enough, though she had to endure study with Hermione Granger who practically threw herself out of her seat every time a question was asked. Hearing Vector award points to Gryffindor every five minutes quickly grew tiresome, even after a single class. Lili resolved to read over the text that night in some effort to stifle the Gryffindor girl's incessant hand-raising.

Her final class of the day was Charms with the tiny and not unlikable Professor Flitwick. Though her neck cricked a little from constantly looking down for instruction, she certainly loved the class almost as much as the subject. At some point during her casting, he had taken a keen interest in her wand and was excitedly remarking on the qualities of dragon heartstring from the Orient compared to its English equivalent when an owl zoomed in through an open window. It landed on Flitwick's desk with a ruffle of feathers and a pompous hoot.

"Just one moment, Miss Lee," he said, stepping down from the stack of books on which he'd been standing and scuttling over to his desk. Though the owl protested a bit, he removed a small scroll of parchment from its leg, awarding the recalcitrant messenger with a bit of cracker he'd tucked in a robe pocket. "Ahh, Miss Lee. It seems you're wanted in Headmaster Dumbledore's office immediately. I do hope everything is okay." The strange tilt of his lips belied a quick regret at having said this. "Can you find your way there?"

She shook her head, though none to anxious to admit that she only found her way _anywhere_ in the castle because she followed other Slytherins with her schedule.

"Well, perhaps I'll escort you myself, Miss Lee. Miss Morrighan, please keep an eye on things while I'm gone." He raised his voice to a resounding trill. "And I expect everyone to have looked over the list of Class 7 N.E.W.T. level charms on page 242 by the time I'm back!"

She tried to pay some attention to the winding path Professor Flitwick took but was distracted by the number of questions the tiny Charms professor whipped at her. He inquired after her wand's properties, a number of theoretical principles of Eastern magic, and the linguistic differences between spell castings. She couldn't help but make the uneven comparison with Snape's tour the night before.

"It sounds as if you had to relearn quite a bit before your arrival here. I mean, to relearn spells in another language. I myself know very few other charm classes."

Lili, growing more and more wary as they neared Dumbledore's office (well, she supposed they _must_ be nearing it by now), replied only half-heartedly. "No, it isn't so bad. My father had taught me many of the basics even during my time at Zhong Mo Xue. He wanted to make sure I was well-versed enough in case I got to return here."

Flitwick grinned. "Yes, Edward was a fine pupil. Must run in the family, from what I can tell." A pause. "I think--yes. Don't mention this to too many of your friends, but I'm thinking of starting up a dueling club this year. They tried to start one a few years back, but, well the teacher then wasn't quite up to it. Hopefully I can do better. I was a three time national dueling champion myself you know." Beaming, pure nostalgia. "Anyway, I feel that you would do quite well to join. I think you have a potential Auror hiding in you somewhere, Slytherin or not. What do you say?" The Charms professor had paused before the gargoyle Lili recognized as the entrance to Headmaster Dumbledore's office and was staring at her with eyes that seemed unnaturally wide for being set in such a small face.

An Auror? Her? She couldn't believe he was saying this to her of all people: the rotten apple, the girl who had just snapped at Harry Potter, the girl who had just found solace among Slytherins.

She forced a smile. "I'll think about it; thank you, Professor."

And, what was more, she wasn't sure if she liked the idea. Her stomach had made a strange turn at the sound of the word "auror."

"Ahh, Miss Lee." The familiar, warm voice of the Headmaster descended from what had seemed an immovable stone ceiling. "Glad you came so quickly. Please, please come in. You have a visitor."

Flitwick blinked at her kindly over his small wire spectacles. "Please do think about it, Miss Lee. Now, to see how many students have hexed one another in my absence…"

Following Dumbledore up the stairs, she found her heart beating faster than normal. Who would be visiting her? Somehow, she vaguely wished it would be one of her friends from Zhong Mo Xue. Or perhaps Headmaster Zhi. What she wouldn't give to see a familiar face right--

"Dad?"

She had entered Dumbledore's office, anxious to see her visitor's face. The face of her father, stern and green-eyed, stared back at her, steady.

"Dad?" she, repeated, mouth suddenly empty.

Her father sat across from the Headmaster, his face forcing a smile at her, but his tight set jaw telling a different story. She glanced around to see another figure sitting in a chair next to --but seemingly opposed to-- her father's. His stiff, black-cut figure gave her the impression that, though he was sitting so near them in the room, he was somewhere quite far away. His face, turned to the window, seemed even more ashen in the daylight than it had in the dungeons earlier that morning.

Her father didn't speak, merely standing with open arms. She embraced him.

"What are you doing here, Dad?"

"I got your owl and I came as quick as I could. I've been talking to the Headmaster here about things, and I believe we've got everything worked out."

Lili allowed herself a half-grin. "You mean Artibius?"

"Not quite, Miss Lee. It seems your father believes a mistake has been made. He's asked for a formal transfer of houses." The Headmaster sat.

"Transfer of houses? You mean move me out of Slytherin?" It had been her heart's desire not more than eight hours ago. "Can you do that?"

"No, of course _not_," the figure sitting besideandacross from her father growled. "If parents got to choose their children's houses there'd be no need for the Sorting would there." It was not a question.

"That is our general policy, yes. We do not feel that it is the parental respons-"

"It's a mistake!" Her father's voice remained quiet but his tone was one she recognized: it was the same tone he'd used when she'd been particularly disobedient and was in for the most severe punishment. "That should be damned obvious to everyone here."

"Not to me." Snape sat further back in his chair, and Lili recognized the relaxing-coiling gesture from the night before. Her father's passion seemed to have the opposite effect on Snape, who became, if possible, even more severely stoic. "She seems to fit in quite well, in my estimation. She's intelligent, diligent, high-sighted—"

Her father stood from his chair and cleared his throat with an unevenly depressed anger. "She's not one of--do you think I want my daughter to be around the likes of you? And the little spawn of Death Eaters?" His voice was no longer quiet. "Don't think I don't know what you did, what you are—"

Snape barely seemed to be breathing. Only his eyes were alive, boiling with the hate of one who has no intention of defending himself.

"Mister Lee," Dumbledore intoned, reaching out a hand as if somehow trying to stop the words in mid-air. "I believe, in Lili's case, I would be willing to make an exception. I will approve the transfer of houses."

Both men turned, and her father stilled. She couldn't be certain but, by the flatness that suddenly veiled his boiling eyes, Snape seemed somehow stung.

"Well--thank you, Headmaster." Her father sat down, taking a deep breath, squeezing and releasing white-knuckled fists. "I assure you that--"

"Solely, of course, on the condition that this is the course of action desired by Miss Lee herself."

Once again, all eyes turned to her. Her mouth became so dry she felt she would never be able to speak again.

"Well, go ahead, Lil."

Lili met his eyes for a long while before turning towards Professor Snape. The latter's mouth had fallen lower, revealing creases at the corners. His gaze, unlike her father's, watched her with little expectation, now totally veiled from any show of emotion. Did he want her to stay? It seemed the tables had turned for him as well. If the opportunity to oust her had presented itself the previous night, he would certainly have dismissed her with a wave of those spidery hands and a 'Good riddance.' But now-- she couldn't see past the wall of his gaze…

She heard her own voice speaking but tried very hard to detach from it.

"I don't think so, Headmaster, if it's all the same to you. I've made some friends in Slytherin, and, I think-" she paused making certain not to turn towards her father. "I don't think it was a mistake."

Dumbledore only nodded.

"Lili." Her father moved, face drawn with attempted composure, into her line of sight. "You don't understand. You haven't been here long enough to understand what Slytherin _means_. Albus." He turned, pleading, to a more receptive audience. "She doesn't understand, Albus. She's been away; she doesn't understand the difference between a Ravenclaw and a Sly--"

"Maybe not. But I understand prejudice: and I understand the difference between Slytherins and everyone who thinks they know what being a Slytherin means. I understand the difference between—hypocritical judgment and-and" She stumbled, eyes sliding from her father's eyes to Snape's. "And-- honest ambition."

She wasn't sure what part of her these words came from, but they fell from her mouth, with subtle but ringing quiet, clanging to the floor.

"I don't understand." Her father's voice had turned in, cautious, like an animal, still with ears pricked.

She couldn't explain the bitterness in her stomach, hearing her father explain her own feelings to her. Hearing him speak of Slytherin as if—well as if she should be ashamed of herself for wanting anything other than an escape. As if she should be ashamed to make Slytherin friends or—or to be sorted there in the first place. She straightened her body, and a voice somewhere deep within her began to speak, slow. "I know when someone is hateful for no reason. And I know that anyone who can hate something he doesn't know—_he's_ the one who doesn't understand."

Her father said nothing, merely watching her as if willing her to take it all back with a hearty laugh. She tore her eyes away from his hurt face and towards the Potion Master. The ringing words seemed to both trouble and please him, a tiny pinprick of _some _emotion—indecipherable—now showing through his eyes.

Dumbledore merely frowned.

After several moments of thick silence, Mister Lee stood from his chair and nodded, stiff, to Dumbledore. "I suppose I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Headmaster. It seems my daughter understands what is best for her after all." He glanced at her only briefly, and it appeared to Lili as the look one might give a corpse.

"Dad." She wrung her throat tight to keep out any emotion.

He paused at the door but did not turn.

"What about Artibius?" Her heart welled up, refusing to be dammed.

"The Headmaster has approved it. I've left him with some of the house elves who've taken him to your room."

He turned and, jerking on his wool hat with great force, slammed the office door behind him, steps echoing off stone walls.

It was only then that the tears began to sting Lili's eyes.

* * *

The firelight danced on her lap, parchment lying limp and worn in the skipping shadow. The common room was almost completely empty --it was dinnertime, but she didn't find herself with much of an appetite-- and she felt somewhat glad to be alone. Dia and Milicent had come up and, in true Slytherin fashion, tried to pry something juicy from her. But she brushed them off, closing the curtains on her bed and rolling up within herself.

She glanced around, looking for Artibius. She wasn't sure where he'd gone after the owl from her father had arrived, but she hadn't seen him since Dia and Milicent left for the Great Hall.

The moment in Dumbledore's office played relentlessly in her mind. She examined every possible situation, every outcome, as if she were lining up equations in Arithmancy. What if she had simply agreed with her father and transferred to Ravenclaw? Hell, what if she had stated her decision more tactfully? It had seemed the right thing to do at the moment, but now she wondered what had come over her. It was true her father had behaved badly, but to have said such things…

Her green eyes fell to the parchment, reading it again.

_Honest ambition indeed_. Why had she felt the need to stand up for Slytherin? For Snape, for that matter. She had only been there a day, and she knew little or nothing about any of this place—even less about him. And, from what she had heard whispered, he, in particular, seemed to have been, in the past, anything but "honest."

And yet a part of her still didn't regret standing by him. He certainly had stood by her. _Intelligent, diligent, high-sighted… _

But she knew that, really, deep down, she wasn't standing up for anyone or anything more than herself. If, as her father had said so many times, the Sorting Hat was never wrong, then she must _belong_ in Slytherin. And she refused to believe that there was something wrong with _her_.

"Lili, right?"

It was a familiar voice, but she didn't turn. She searched for the name and face.

"Yes --Draco Malfoy."

She could feel his smile—well, smirk—perhaps pleased that she'd remembered his name. He stepped beside her chair with a cool composure she envied infinitely at that moment.

He tried to glance down at the parchment in her lap, but she rolled it up quickly. "Erm, Dia and Milicent said you wouldn't tell them what happened. I mean, why you went to Dumbledore's office today. What's wrong? Someone die or something?" He sounded oddly hopeful.

"No, my father wasn't too happy with my being put in Slytherin. He wanted Dumbledore to transfer me to Ravenclaw." She didn't look up at him again, her eyes fixed, unblinking, on the blazing orange of the fireplace until her entire body seemed to sink in the flames.

"I see. And Dumbledore wouldn't do it?"

"No, he was ready to. I didn't want it."

There was a long silence.

"Well, I must say that's a bit of a shock. I mean, your family isn't really known to be--well, you know. You're family isn't really Slytherin, is it?" An attempt at regaining the earlier suave composure. "You'll be an asset, though, I imagine. Slytherin needs more good students. I mean, Gryffindor has that Granger twerp --they've almost got a monopoly on academic points."

Ahh, the House Cup. _That makes is _all _better_. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the flames crawling up her skin, willing Draco to leave. At that moment, she didn't want to guard anything anymore. She didn't want to play games or be wheedled.

Somehow, Draco sensed this. There was another longer silence, and he glanced around the room, as if searching for something to say.

"Say, are you the type who likes Quidditch?" He tried again. "There's a game next week: Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff. Should be a cinch for us. I'm the team's Seeker. You should come watch. That'll make you proud to be a Slytherin for sure. You'll see, it's worth a little tiff with your dad to see us really wallop those gits."

She couldn't help a small but unenthusiastic smile at his fervor. "Actually, I've never seen a Quidditch game. Don't know anything about it. In China, everyone plays _Feimadong_."

"You've never seen a Quidditch game!" His disapproval was almost as hot and fierce as the fire. "Well, I really doubt that this fay-mah-whatever is anything to compare. I mean, flying on a broomstick, bludgers zooming past your ears while you search for a tiny little golden Snitch. There's really nothing like it."

This made Lili smile in earnest, though her eyes remained bathed in heat. She wondered if she should tell him that _Feimadong_ was played on small flying horses at night, the field lit by the horses' glowing gold eyes and hooves, a blue flame dancing back and forth across in the dark. "Well I suppose I'll have to see a game then." The words were happening somewhere in the distance.

Draco sighed. "Your father sent you that parchment, didn't he?"

His voice cut through somehow. She turnd her eys to him, vision filled with dark spots and lingering images of flame. "Er, what do you mean?"

A frown stretched, haughty, across his face, and he ran his fingers through his white-gold hair before taking a seat on the chair's arm. "He sent you that parchment after he left. It must say something very bad." He shifted a little.

She searched the boy's eyes for some trace of mockery but found none. It was some sort of genuine understanding. Coming from someone in Slytherin, anything genuine was slightly--unnerving. Especially suspicious as she'd heard nothing but insults about anything and anyone Malfoy. "Well, uh, he did actually. It's not--" She felt the tears threatening behind her throat and paused. She knew it wasn't seemly to cry in front of another Slytherin…

Draco lowered his voice. "He said he didn't want to see you again, didn't he?"

The softness of the question forced her to swallow hard. His face betrayed something in him she wouldn't have guessed was there, the way he strutted around, quipping, flanked by two brainless leviathans. It almost seemed, for a moment, as if a distance existed between the gray of his eyes and brain. "Well, he sort of said, Don't bother coming home for Christmas…" A tear slipped past her guard and down her cheek. Then several more, a sob wringing her throat. Her eyes found the fire again, hiding.

Draco squirmed, and she knew she'd crossed some sort of Slytherin line. She bit her tongue harder and stopped the tears dead in their tracks.

"That's happened to loads of us here. You should have seen the fit Dia's parents threw when she got sorted here. It's just-- being a Slytherin."

"Not to you." She knew enough about Malfoys to know they were the consummate Slytherins.

He squirmed a little more, uncertain and watching his hands with great interest. "Yeah, my dad was pretty happy I was in Slytherin, actually. But everything since the Sorting has sort of resulted in the 'Don't come home for Christmas' threat."

Once again she found her eyes on him, on his wringing hands and the macho smirk he was trying to fit over a face contorted with discomfort.

From somewhere above there was a loud fluttering of wings, and, before Draco knew what was happening, a dark blur flashed down from the rafters of the common room rocketing straight into his chest. He tumbled over backwards.

"Artibius!" Lili said, jumping up and removing the large, sable bat from Draco's chest. "Artibius, no, it's okay. He's a friend."

The bat was agitated, clicking madly, tiny gray eyes gleaming.

Draco was barely able to stand from shock. He propped himself up from the floor to see the bat licking Lili's tear-wet cheeks. "Disgusting," he growled, brushing off his black robes in vexation.

Lili smiled as the bat crawled from one of her shoulders to the other, wrapping his wings around her in a strange mock-embrace. "This is my friend, Artibius. We've known each other for a very long time. I'm sorry if he frightened you. He probably heard me crying and thought you were doing something bad to me." She looked round to the bat's sharp face. "It's ok. This is Draco. He was—just talking. A—friend." She wiped the remnants of tears from her eyes and watched Draco sideways, waiting to see how he would respond to the accusation of being anybody's "friend."

"I don't think your rat likes me much."

"Sure he likes you, he's just a little protective of me, that's all. Here, I know one way you can make friends very quickly." She pulled a small velvet bag from the folds of her robes and placed it in Draco's hand. "They're called _suan mei_. They're his favorite: dried sugared plums on the stern. He doesn't get them too often, but if you give him one now, he'll warm up to you, no problem." She grinned. "They're quite good. You can eat one too, if you like."

Draco looked at her dubiously but pulled two of the small treats from the bag nevertheless. Grimacing in that same superior way, he fed one to Artibius and popped one in his own mouth.

The bat accepted the treat only after very careful consideration.

"They're not _horrible_," Draco mumbled after a moment, a look of uncertainty and caution tightening his expression as he swirled the dried plum through his mouth. "A little sour, but-" He was stopped mid-sentence by a rather large bat who had taken to licking his face with great fervor.

"Oh bugger!"

"See what I mean."

Draco wiped his cheeks, annoyed, and settled himself somewhat angrily against the chair. He sneered down at Artibius as if looking at Harry Potter. "Well, he certainly is—a bat. Where'd you find him?"

"Oh, my dad bought him for me just after we'd arrived in China," Lili said, feeling a slight tension in her shoulders and a lump in her throat as she mentioned her father. "I was still very upset cause I wouldn't get to go to Hogwarts like he and Mum, so he bought me Artibius as a gift. I took him to school with me instead of the normal cat, and he kept me company for those first lonely months. I had trouble fitting in, and Artibius here helped me feel more at home." She scratched him under the chin in a spot that made his wings flap furiously. She chuckled. "He also gave me my first lesson in _dongwujing_."

"You'll have to speak English with me."

"It means 'animal eyes'.I don't know if you have anything like it here. My first charms professor at Zhong Mo Xue told me about it. Basically, you're eyes take on the animal's vision. You can see what you see as well as what they see at the same time. It takes a lot of getting used to, and it will only work with animals you have a strong connection with. But let me tell you. There is nothing more thrilling than seeing what it's like to soar above the treetops among the stars."

"I thought bats had poor vision."

"Most bats do. But Artibius here is an Eastern Horned Bat. And while he has excellent hearing, his vision, unlike other species of bats, is about ten times better than a human's."

Artibius looked up at Draco, seeming proud of this fact. "That must be interesting." He seemed to disapprove of it: as if it were childish.

"Useful too." She looked down at Artibius who was clicking back at Draco with equal dislike. "The second month of school, this bully started making fun of me because I couldn't speak Chinese very well, and I was having some problems learning things. Well, I was practicing a little _dongwujing_ when Artibius here decided to try something very strange. He flew in that girl's dormitory room and saw her sleeping with a big, pink teddy bear. She was fifteen at the time, mind you. After everyone heard about that, she didn't feel like making fun of me anymore. Nor did anyone else."

Draco's eyes sparked for the first time, and his tilted smile became real. "That's not bad…" Reluctantly, he graced Artibius with a single stroke down the nose. "I could use something like that. Spy on Potter and that Weasley girl. I know they've been out at night snogging all around the school." She could almost see the Slytherin wheels turning in his brain. "Can you hear things?"

"No."

He grinned despite himself. "Could you show me?"

"You couldn't link with Artibius. You have to have known the Sight Animal for a while. Not only that, you have to be specially connected with the animal—you can't just do it with any old rat in the cellar." It was Artibius' turn to look offended by the comparison. "Besides it's very difficult to get used to two layers of vision. It made me sick the first few times."

"Then you do it. I just want to see."

She sighed. She wasn't normally inclined to use _dongwujing_ around others, but seeing as he was clearly doing things outside his normal inclination –and had successfully taken her mind off her father, she realized quite suddenly--she thought it was the least she could do. "Alright. I'll get him to fly into the Great Hall. We'll see what everyone at dinner's up to." Assuming a similar position to that she'd used for meditation, she took several deep breaths before allowing Artibius to settle on her shoulder lightly.

She closed her eyes and felt Artibius' wings tickling her neck. After a few moments of intense concentration, blue dots swarming her darkened eyes, a small tingling built in the back of her mind. "_Jiejing a_!"

Her eyes bolted open and her vision was strangely blurred, as if two layers of a similar image were overlaid. "Alright, Artibius. Do you know the way to the Great Hall? Go on, we'll be fine here."

The bat clicked a couple of times before zooming down a small drainage opening that she could only assume led out of the common room.

After a few seconds of vertiginous dark, corridors began whirring past dizzily, forms rising and falling as if on water. She hadn't seen Artibius in a while, much less exchanged sight with him. Her stomach turned.

Faintly, behind the jostled picture of the corridors, she could see Draco watching her closely. "Is it working?"

"Yes, he's heading for the Great Hall right now."

"You look _strange_. You're eyes are all kind of glazed over. It's almost like I can see his vision clouding up yours. Kind of creepy. Looks like you're in a coma." He waved his hands in front of her wide eyes.

The nausea was severe now, as Artibius found his way into the Great Hall, making a wide circle under the clear night sky-ceiling. He swooped down as far as he could without being seen. "I see the Slytherin table. Oh, there are your two little--well, not little--your friends. They seem a bit lost without you. And there are Milicent and Dia." She grinned. "Looks like Dia's flirting with that fifth year, um, I think she said his name was Daniel? Milicent's on her third helping of dessert. Ah, Gryffindor table. There's that girl, Granger. Oh and Potter. And, what's the other boy's name? Red hair?"

"Weasley?"

"Yes, him."

Artibius settled on a buttress above the Gryffindor and the faculty tables and began looking across the room. His eyes rested for a moment on Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley who were whispering back and forth rather seriously while their friend, Harry, helped himself to another lump of steaming cobbler. Artibius then turned toward the faculty table, eyeing Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape for a long moment.

Snape was sitting beside McGonagall, two seats away from Dumbledore. While the rest of the faculty talked, smiling over their food, Snape remained silent, looking distracted and poking at his dinner in much the same way she had at her breakfast earlier that morning. His hair hung limp down his cheeks casting shadows across his face. She wondered vaguely at this: _was he always so distant and melancholy? _

Artibius' vision swiveled suddenly, even against Lili's will. She furled her brow.

"What? What is it?" Draco leaned forward and squinted at Lili's clouded green eyes, trying to see something in them.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, squinting a little herself, trying to make out the image past Draco's face. "It's just that, well, Granger and Weasley were whispering together and then Granger walked out. And now, a few seconds later, Ron's walking out too. It's like, well, maybe they're going somewhere but they don't want anyone to know…"

"Oh, follow them! Follow them!"

Luckily, Artibius had the same idea and trailed Ron's red hair from a reasonable distance. "Oh, there she is! She was waiting for him behind a suit of armor."

Draco was positively—and almost literally-- jumping for joy. "What now? What are they doing?"

"They're just walking, holding hands, oh, they opened up a secret passage!" She shook her head slightly. "How did they know about that?"

"Oh, Weasley's twin brothers knew every one of them inside this castle. I'm sure he knows all the best spots…Do you know where they are?"

Surprisingly enough, she did. She remembered it from her walk with Professor Flitwick just that afternoon. "Yes, it's just about three minutes from the Headmaster's office. Right behind the painting of the sailor."

Artibius, realizing he couldn't follow the two, began heading back, lost again in the black of the castle drains.

Lili sighed, only then feeling the impact on her senses. She whispered the spell again and severed the link. Draco's ecstatic face came slowly into focus.

"That was marvelous. I knew those two had a thing for each other. I'll have to tell Filch to start searching that corridor at night. He'll catch them snogging for sure. It'll be points from Gryffindor not to mention Weasley going as red as his filthy hair."

Lili smiled back but felt a little strange. It wasn't terribly honest spying on two people she barely knew. In fairness, however, they had been spreading rumors about her. And she knew, by now, Harry would have told them about Potions, and no one in Gryffindor would afford her much kindness. Certainly not of the type Draco seemed to be trying, in his own proud Slytherin way, to extend to her now.

Artibius fluttered up from the drain, nudging her, expectant. She pulled out another _suan _mei, and he grabbed it greedily.

"Do you know what I wouldn't give for something like that? Incredible…" Something in the way he said "incredible" made her wonder if he was talking about the prospect of catching potential public displays of affection from two of his obvious foes or about herself and Artibius.

From across the room, she heard the sounds of people beginning to enter, shaking the common room out of silence again. Suddenly, for a reason she couldn't quite understand, she began to blush.

"I'm feeling tired," she lied, standing, and scooping Artibius up in one hand. "I think I'll just get some rest. Thank you for—" She broke off the gratitude with a smile. Any acknowledgement of kindness on his part would, in Slytherin, no doubt be grounds for embarrassment. She glanced over and saw Crabbe and Goyle approaching at their Neanderthal speed.

"Yeah." He seemed, mentally, to brush off his features, everything becoming, again, steely and cool. "So you'll come watch the Quidditch match next week?" His voice was, once again, unnervingly suave.

"I won't miss it."

Draco gave her one last crooked smile, before strutting over to his twin thugs.

The heat of the fire drizzled away from her with every step she took towards her room. Her cheeks were still stiff with dry tears, but her throat had loosened, allowing breath to pass without the threat of sorrow. Thinking of the parchment rolled in her hand, she no longer had to fight with herself. She felt heavy and her gait was slow, but, at least, thanks to Draco and Artibius, the desperate tears had stopped--for the moment.

And now she wasn't exactly sure what to think. A Slytherin who showed her some sympathy—or a pretty good likeness of it, anyway. She wracked her brain trying to figure out a way in which it was really manipulation, but could think of none. Perhaps he had been honest. The pain was part of being Slytherin: he had merely shown her his understanding.

But even darker than Draco in the back of her mind, another face, hunched over his meal, looking utterly…

Yes, the pain _was_ part of being Slytherin. But what was _his_ pain?

Whatever it was, he wore it on every inch of his body, hanging on him as heavy as his robes.

Artibius nibbled her finger again, this time a little harder.

_What?_ She asked him with a look.

He clicked several times and took off up the stairwell.

He thinks I'm in over my head, she thought, watching Artibius disappear. He thinks I won't be able to handle all this and still stay away from…The words trembled-- didn't want to come clearly. _Hac dao_. The dark arts. Artibius was afraid she would fall prey, as so many Slytherins did, to the dark path…

_Is he wrong? _

It was a voice within her, one she hadn't heard in some time.

Shaking her head, she dismissed it. She knew what she was doing. She'd done nothing wrong. She couldn't let other people's prejudices frighten her. She had made the right decision.

She had made the right decision.

She continued to remind herself of that fact as she mounted the stairs to try and, somehow, convince Artibius.


	4. Yanjing Hei, Linian Hei

**_Chapter Four_****: Yanjing Hei, Linian Hei**

"Lili!"

She turned her head back towards the Quidditch pitch.

"Lili!" It was Draco, flying down the pitch sideline to meet her, quite out of breath. His normally clean face was smudged with sweat and dirt, and he still looked a bit off-balance from a number of Bludgers to the head.

"You okay?" She couldn't help but ask. This was only her second Quidditch match, and she had yet to overcome the feeling that it was all horrifically violent.

He ran his fingers through sweat-caked hair. "No, I'm not fine. Can't believe we lost. And to Gryffindor."

"Well, it was a good game anyway."

Draco was clearly unsatisfied. With a slight whoosh he dismounted his broom and, brushing some dirt from his robes, stood tall beside her. "Well, I'm hungry. I think I might run up to the common room and have some of the food Mum sent me." He forced a half smile. "I suppose if you like Toil and Trouble Toffee you could have a bit as well."

Uncomfortable, she nodded. Over the last three weeks, Draco had granted her more and more of his time—even deigning to, occasionally, appear to enjoy her company-- and it was becoming abundantly clear to everyone, including her, that this was more than a casual acquaintanceship. Apparently, Draco didn't really have "friends." Draco was showing some interest in her—and Lili simply didn't know how to respond.

They tromped back towards the castle in silence, Draco pulling at the twig end of his broom carefully and shooting looks across the grounds at Harry Potter and his exultant followers. Lili, following his eyes, met the gleeful forms with some disgust.

_Poor Draco_. She wished, half-heartedly, that someday he would show Potter up: she thought it might do _both_ boys good.

"You should learn to fly," Draco said at some length, stepping aside to let her descent the final staircase. "I mean, there's really nothing like feeling the broom under you, the air rushing by. _Parseltongue_."

The large stone in front of the common room rolled away, and they entered, putting distance between each other without even thinking about it. "You'll have to teach me sometime."

"Lili!"

She turned her head again, neck still cricked and tired from her spectating. Watching Quidditch took a bit of energy on her part, and she wasn't sure she could handle whatever intrigue or rumor was being passed around Slytherin now.

"How was the Quidditch game?" From the look of it, Dia had been working on their potions essay. She had ink stains all the way up her paper-white arms.

Lili hurriedly answered for Draco. "Oh, it was a good game. We were way ahead in points till Potter practically tripped over the Snitch. We would have won except for Potter's –" she paused and glanced at Malfoy's disdainful face. "Potter's _dumb luck_."

Dia was clearly disinterested. She was one of the only Slytherins who didn't attend the Quidditch matches and found the sport, in her own words, "dreadfully dull."

"I see, well, that's too bad. I just wanted to tell you, Lili, you've got a package."

"A package?"

"Yeah. I think it's from your Dad. It's postmarked from Edinburgh."

Her heart skipped a beat. A package from her father? She hadn't heard anything from him since the last owl he'd sent her telling her she wouldn't be welcome home for Christmas.

Draco met her eyes and took at deep breath as if exasperated. "I'll try and save you a bit of toffee. Go have a look."

Barely listening, she dashed up to the girl's dormitory. Inside the room, Artibius squealed and fluttered down from the rafters and onto her shoulder.

"What is it, Artibius?" she asked, drawing back the curtain to find a tall, flat package wrapped in brown paper, a letter attached to it with a thick string.

She barely laid her hand on the letter before noticing that it was wrinkled about the edges. Apparently, she thought with a sigh, Dia had more proof than the postmark that the package was from her father. _No secrets in Slytherin_, she reminded herself, sitting down on her bed's edge and unfolding the letter with shaking hands.

_Elizabeth,_

I found this in a closet. I think it must have gotten lost in the luggage and was put away by mistake. He was making quite a bit of noise, and I believe he belongs to you.

_Edward R. Lee_

Her eyes could only bring up the stinging reminder of tears—nothing more. What had she expected? Some token of reconciliation? It was a foolish thought. She felt the familiar Slytherin stoniness take hold, as she glanced over the stern letter only once more before tossing it aside.

"_Mmmmmf!"_

The package was protesting loudly, and Lili pulled at the string and brown paper, Artibius clicking wildly from the end of the bed.

"Hui! Ah! I thought Dad left you back at Zhong Mo Xue!"

The painted man, simple black brush work on rice paper, stretched and yawned elaborately, hitting his bald head on the calligraphy above him. "Ouch!"

"Hui…I can't believe it's you."

"Yes, well, believe it," the short, thin man said in rapid Chinese, rubbing his head ruefully and looking up at her through thin black eyes. "I've been stuck in that closet for almost a month, do you know that?"

"I'm sorry," she said, hanging him lightly on the wall beside her bed. "I didn't know you were there. I was sure Dad would have left you at school."

The floor boards creaked.

"What is _that,_ and what are you saying to it?" Millicent's face was turned up in a horrible grimace.

"Ahh…" the man in the painting said, smoothing his robes and tugging his beard. "Who might this lovely young lady be?" He spoke now in crisp, eloquent English.

Lili grinned, watching Millicent turn from bristling to some attempt at effeminate. "This is my…friend, Millicent Bulstrode. She's one of my roommates."

"I see. Well, it is indeed an honor to meet you, Miss Bulstrode. My name is Hui-neng, sixth patriarch of Buddhism."

Millicent grinned. "I like this guy, Lee. He's not nearly as annoying as that rat of yours." She shot Artibius a poison look and received a hiss in response.

"Everyone's going to dinner now. You coming?"

"I'll be up soon."

As soon as the door slammed, Hui-neng shuddered. "What a gargoyle," he said, bending down in the lotus position beneath a tall, thinly-stroked bamboo. "She's your roommate?"

"Yes. But she's about as bad as they get. My other roommates are alright. You should meet Dia later: she's nice."

"And how are you doing,_ xiao nu_?"

She leaned back against one of the bed posts, taking the thin bed curtains in her hands, fidgeting without realizing it. "Pretty well, actually. There was a bit of an upset there at the start. I didn't get sorted as everyone expected."

"Yes, I heard. I may have been locked away in a closet, but I heard. Hard to miss as much cursing as your father did, even behind solid oak."

"No, he wasn't too happy." She eyed the letter on the floor for only a second. "But I've been doing fairly well. I don't think being Slytherin is half as bad as most people say."

"You're making friends then?"

"Yes. Dia is a good friend. And Millicent can be okay, well, at least tolerable sometimes." She listed a few more names, Hui listened, contented, and Lili was overwhelmed with a feeling of calm, as if things were finally going back to the way they had been.

As she was discussing a Slytherin third year she was helping with Arithmancy, Artibius gave a loud squeal.

"Ah, you're not telling me something," Hui scolded, raising a thin, inky eyebrow.

She shot Artibius a scowl. "Well, there is a--but…I just—"

The old man crossed his arms.

"His name's Draco Malfoy."

"_His_? I see."

"No, no. That's why I didn't mention it. He's just a friend, that's all. I mean, maybe he wants to be more than that, but I'm not interested."

Hui-neng sat in silence for a moment.

"What?" She wrung the bed curtain more furiously.

"How are you classes?"

She leaned back, refusing to rise to the bait. "They're alright. It's nothing like Zhong Mo Xue, that's for sure. I've already learned most of this, either in class or in private study. Transfiguration is a little difficult –and, oh, I'm having trouble in Runes. We never had that."

Hui-neng nodded. "Any good teachers?"

"My Charms professor is interesting. And my Arithmancy professor is quite good."

Artibius squealed again.

_I've really got to bribe that bat into shutting up sometimes. _"And then there's my Potions professor, Professor Snape."

"What's wrong? Potions is usually your favorite." Hui-neng pulled something from inside his robes and munched.

"Oh, no, I like Potions still. And he's an excellent professor, it's just—well, I don't know."

"Is he unpleasant?"

She grinned. "Well, I suppose that depends on who you ask. I mean, he's quite strict. And he can be very, very unfair. Especially to the Gryffindors." She considered what Harry Potter might say if asked the same question. "But, he's been fine with me. In fact, he's been downright cordial by comparison to how he treats others."

Hui-neng nodded, swallowing and stretching his legs out across the black ink grass. "Then what is it?"

"Well, it's just that—he seems to behave a little oddly around me."

He popped a small water-gray fruit in his mouth. "Explain."

Uncertain, she sat up and leaned towards the painting, looking for the right way to describe the strange downturn of Snape's lips. "Every time he sees me, it's as if he's thinking about something else. He's got this look—it's totally unreadable. But sometimes, when he looks at me, it slips. I don't think he knows it does, but it does. And when it does, well, he's not looking at _me_…that doesn't make any sense, does it?"

Hui-neng considered this a moment before shaking his head. "No, I think I understand. It's as if he's feeling something about you."

"Yes, maybe. It's a feeling. Almost a sadness, but then, I don't know. Sometimes he seems quite pleased or happy with me."

The old man shifted his robes a little and shooed a small fly that buzzed by. "Well, you know the old saying: _yanjing hei, linian hei_."

"Dark eyes, dark past," she whispered to herself. "Yes, I could certainly believe that. He doesn't seem to talk with anyone. He seems like the sort who's—hiding something."

Hui-neng grinned. "There's another saying about that type, you know. 'The man who sits apart is either plotting evil or hiding good.'"

"But which one is it?"

Hui could only shrug. "I suppose you have to find out what that look means. And now, if you'll excuse me, I can't sit around here all day. I'm tired and I still have some meditation to do."

Lili smiled. "Yes, alright. I suppose I'd better go on up and get a bite to eat."

"_Xiao nu_," he cooed, grinning. "It's good to see you again."

"You too, Hui. I'll talk to you tomorrow I suppose."

But the Patriarch already had both eyes tight shut.

She turned away and met Artibius who was squawking in hunger. "Alright, come on then: let's go get something to eat."

"Oh, Lili, dear?"

She turned back to see Hui-neng, one eye open. "Yes?"

"Could you perhaps move me to that wall?" He gestured to the other side of her bed. "I like to be able to see the sun in the morning."

With a slight chuckle, she moved the painting softly and left Hui to his meditation.

* * *

The potion was bubbling a deep blue.

"Don't you think we should add a bit more willow-root?" Harry asked her, pushing his fogged glasses up his nose.

"No, I think it's perfect." She pulled off her dragonhide gloves and laid them carefully on the table beside them. "Didn't you read the text? If you don't have enough willow-root the potion will—"

"Look turquoise, I know," he said, gloomily. He was no happier about being paired with Lili for the last month than she. "Don't you think that's a little lighter than it ought to be was my point…?"

"I think, Mr. Potter, you should listen more closely to Miss Lee on these matters."

The two of them turned to meet Snape's thin, hard lips. He had been watching them closely for the last month, and even Lili was beginning to find this a bit unnerving. "If you had added even a pinch more willow-root…do you know what would have happened, Potter?"

Harry scowled but remained silent.

Snape turned his eyes to Lili.

"The cauldron could have melted."

"Precisely. Five points from Gryffindor." He watched the young man for any sign of reaction, but Harry offered none. "Very well, clean up your things, bottle the potion and you're done."

Harry helped her upturn and clean the cauldron in stony silence.

"Another fun-filled Potions with Potter?" Draco asked, meeting her at the Dungeon door with a wry grin.

She rolled her eyes. She and Draco often traded stories about their Potions partners. Hermione Granger, Draco's partner, was almost as intolerable as Harry, shouting instructions at him and yelping in dismay if he tried to do anything on his own.

"You wouldn't believe that girl," Draco sighed, adjusting the Potions text under his arm. "First she said, 'read the instructions to me.' And then, in the middle of the damn thing she turned to me and, all hot air, says, 'You don't even _try_ to help me, do you?' Insufferable little mu—"

"Miss Lee."

Lili turned. "Yes, Professor?"

"I need to speak with you before you leave." His voice was flat, and he glided back towards his desk in silence, barely acknowledging Draco's presence.

They traded puzzled looks and, shrugging, he said he'd save her a seat in Transfiguration.

Snape waited until all the students had finished and departed before he laid down the parchment he was examining and looked at her across his desk, eyes masked. "Miss Lee. Please have a seat." He reached out and drew a chair to his desk.

She sat, trying not to look nervous.

"Miss Lee," he began, raising himself to his full, spindly height, "it has come to my attention that this class is, well, simply too _easy _for you."

She swallowed.

"Do you feel unchallenged, Miss Lee?"

"Well, it's always useful to go over the basics, I suppose."

"Ahh, far too diplomatic for someone in Slytherin house, Ms. Lee," he said, but not without a hint of amusement. "You are familiar with the entire syllabus for this year, are you not?"

She nodded.

"Well, do you think it's fair that you put little effort into something that your classmates must work quite hard to master?" He looked at her, eyes twinkling black. Another test.

"Well, sir, if you don't mind me saying so, there's nothing unfair about learning things faster than your peers."

The response seemed to surprise him, and he nodded in silence for a few moments.

She took the opportunity of silent thought to examine him, as Hui had suggested, noting his neatly trimmed fingernails, his thin fingers wrapped around parchment, his ashy lips pushed together in thought. Despite the rather oily nature of his skin and hair, he smelled quite strongly of clean water and oatmeal soap. His eyes were planted firmly on her, examining her as fiercely as she did him.

"Be that as it may, I think I will add a bit of extra work to your experience in my class. I will be certain you have learned something before you leave here."

She nodded again, not knowing what to say.

"Is this acceptable?"

"I wasn't aware it was a suggestion, sir. But, I've never been opposed to learning anything."

He sat down and, abandoning the parchment he'd been holding, steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "The first part of your extra work will be to attend a Dueling Club. Professor Flitwick and I are starting it up again after a disastrous attempt several years ago. I think you might enjoy it, and it might give you a little…practical experience for the future." His eyes met hers.

What she was supposed to make of that, she wasn't certain. "Yes, I was already planning on attending. Professor Flitwick invited me."

Snape considered this, then continued. "Also, I am, at the moment, making a rather large quantity of potions for the Ministry. I have found the demand rather—_excessive_, at least for only myself. I believe you are one of only two students in this school capable of helping me with potions of this difficulty and not making a complete muddle of the project."

She eyed him, asking the question without opening her mouth.

"The other is, of course, Miss Granger, and, as you might guess from the accounts Mister Malfoy has surely given you…" He smirked. "She is not the most pleasant of partners."

She was at once flattered and intimidated, feeling her palms begin to sweat merely at the proposition. _No, don't call it that. At the opportunity._ "I'd be glad to give whatever help I can."

"Of course, you will still have to complete the regular course work, so these potions will have to be made after class hours."

"I understand, sir."

He finally turned his eyes from her and stood, turning to flip through some papers on the shelf behind him. "I can give you some leniency on your written assignments, since you're taking on the extra work—"

"That won't be necessary, sir." She was certain this was what he wanted to hear.

"Very well. I expect to see you at the Dueling Club tonight, 7 o'clock."

She stood, relieved, and pushed a stray hair behind her ear.

He looked at her for a moment, and she recognized the slip—the pinprick of something he wasn't walling in...

It was the same feeling she had described to Hui-neng the day before. "Sir?"

He seemed barely aware of his own gaze until she spoke. "Nothing…nothing Miss Lee. Good day."

But she would not turn from him and kept him hard in her sight. _Yanjing hei, linian hei_, she reminded herself, watching him. "Sir?" she pressed.

Now it was his turn to look discomfited, turning his eyes away, setting the down the files he had removed with an almost threatening force. "Nothing, Miss Lee. You merely reminded me of—someone else." He looked at her blankly, lips hard. The pinprick had been extinguished. "Now, as I said, Miss Lee. _Good day_."


	5. Meeting of the Minds

**_Chapter Five_: Meeting of the Minds**

Lili found herself becoming more and more accustomed to the Hogwarts food-- even _enjoying_ some of it. As much as she longed for _jiaozi_ and _zha mantou_, she managed to finish her chicken and potatoes—and then some.

"Are you sure you won't go duel with us, Dia?" Lili tried once again, tucking into her second plate. "It's not for a grade or anything. And you're so good at Charms. Besides, I thought you said you wanted to learn some wand defense."

"I can't, not tonight." She didn't look up.

"Oh, come on. You can put the Potions essay off 'til tomorrow…"

"No, I've no interest in dueling. Especially with Snape skulking around."

Lili's chewing slowed, trying to keep her voice only mildly-interested. "Why's that? What's wrong with Snape?"

"I don't know exactly. But he makes me nervous _enough_ in Potions. I certainly couldn't keep my head under his scrutiny the way you do. I'd probably get confused, point my wand the wrong way and curse myself."

Milicent snorted her affirmative.

"Besides, I've never been much of a fighter anyway. Dueling can get nasty."

Lili's fork hovered a moment: she hadn't considered this. She had merely assumed that everything would come to her. They'd do a few exercises, try them out, and that would be that. Surely there wouldn't be _real_ fighting.

Her stomach turned. What if she _did _embarrass herself in front of everybody? In front of Snape and the Gryffindors and--?

"You ready?" Draco grabbed a small bite of chicken from Dia's plate and bowed elaborately with gratitude. She rolled her eyes.

_No, there was nothing to be nervous about._ She probably knew more spells and curses than any of the students who'd come through Hogwarts. She had always done exceedingly well in Charms: so what more would she have to know?

She stood and, with one last swig of juice, followed Draco out of the hall. Crabbe hulked along her flank.

Once in the darker corridors, Lili ventured a glance in Draco's direction. She saw no hint of anxiety in his face, eyes straight, lips tight and head held even higher than normal. Draco certainly wasn't worried about dueling.

"You looking forward to this?" he asked, as if sensing her eyes.

She worried for a moment that some hint of nervousness had found its way onto her face. "Oh, yes. I've never dueled before. Have you?"

"Yes, once or twice."

He didn't seem interested in explaining, and she wasn't sure how to ask. She had no doubt that her voice, at the moment, would betray the butterflies beginning to jolt, delicately, in her stomach.

The club was set to meet in a large, open room Lili had never seen before. It looked as if it were once used as a lecture hall, but the veil of dust and the smell of mold hinted that such events were quite some time in the past.

Lili took quick and anxious notice of those present as she entered. Most were unfamiliar faces, all from other houses. Besides herself and Draco, there were at least ten or fifteen other Slytherins present. She recognized several of the Quidditch players from Hufflepuff as well as Gryffindor, including Harry Potter and his two cohorts. Tiny Professor Flitwick was standing on a short, wooden box talking with Hermione Granger and waving his arms about in a helter-skelter way. Lili felt her stomach shiver again.

_No_. She tried to stand a little taller and push her lips together in an imitation of Draco's confidence. She was being silly. She could certainly do this. Besides, it wasn't as if she had a choice. Professor Snape had set this before her as a challenge.

She gritted her teeth and waited.

She didn't have to wait long, for, not more than a few seconds later, Professor Snape came gliding into the room, the students parting before him with profoundly displeased faces. Advancing toward Professor Flitwick at the front of the room, Snape drew his wand in a long, smooth motion and whirled on the students, cold, as he so often did to signal the beginning of a lecture.

Lili inspected Snape's wand with vague interest as he'd never found any occasion to bring it out in class. It looked to be around eleven and a quarter inches, oak perhaps, but a bit thinner than she would have imagined for a wand of such length and material. The handle had a silver band about the base, words inscribed across it in deep black. As much as she squinted, she found it impossible to read.

"Alright, everyone, settle down." Professor Flitwick's voice echoed with an odd squeak. "Please, we're ready to begin."

Mixed chatter continued around the room, but a single glare from Snape stifled it.

"Very well. I'm so glad to see so many of you here this evening. Professor Snape and I believe that it will be quite--_beneficial _for you to learn some of the basics of defense." He let the words along with their nasty implications hang for a few seconds. Lili had no doubt that, at that moment, a single name had come into the minds of every person there. _You-Know-Who_.

"Beneficial" was, perhaps, an understatement. It should have been, Lili thought in passing, required these days…

"The best way to learn these basics is through the art of dueling. Dueling can improve not only your knowledge of Charms and defenses, but your reflexes, your speed, and your ability to think under pressure."

The same flutter in her gut.

"That being said, we shall get on with this week's lesson." Flitwick dismounted his pedestal and shuffled across the floor to a position across from Snape. "There are two spells which form the backbone of any dueling education. The first is the Disarming Spell. Everyone –without wands this first time—_Expelliarmus._"

There was a dull buzz as everyone repeated the word.

"The Disarming spell will do just as it says. It will knock your opponent's wand from his hand and can consequently send him tumbling over. Professor Snape will demonstrate."

Many of the students looked at each other in horror, hoping the Potions Master wouldn't choose to demonstrate on them.

Snape raised his wand and, with a swish and a flick, shouted, _"Expelliarmus!_" Professor Flitwick fell backwards with great force, wand flying out of his hand and onto the floor in front of Snape.

"Ahh, yes. Thank you Professor Snape," Flitwick said, pushing himself up from the floor and tottering over to retrieve his wand. "Quite excellent." Despite his cheery smile, he touched his battered backside ruefully. "Now then, the second spell. This is the Shoving Spell. Everyone--_Cajolus Brusqum_."

The buzz again.

"Excellent. Now the Shoving Spell is no light thing, so you must use extra caution." Flitwick attempted a severe look over his round spectacles. "This spell will push your opponent in whatever direction you indicate with your wand, usually with a fair amount of force. If your wand is pointed at the left of them, they'll be pushed left. Right, right. Down, they'll be pushed to the floor." He looked over at Professor Snape.

Snape again raised his wand, this time barely speaking the spell. Nonetheless, Professor Flitwick flew sideways, tumbling over his small wooden box and to the floor.

"Yes, well, as you can see this spell is quite a bit more violent than the previous, please, exercise _great _caution. You must be certain not to deliberately aim your opponent at something or shout the charm too loudly and send them flying out the window."

Lili noticed Draco glancing over at Harry Potter through deliberate steel eyes.

While Flitwick was busy dusting his robes and adjusting his spectacles, Snape continued. "Well, then, I hope you will need no further instruction in these most _basic_ of spells." He paused as if daring anyone to ask questions. "You'll be paired off now. Listen for your names."

A clamor of protest.

_Of course he would do something like that, just like Potions_. She bit her tongue and looked over at Draco. He was still staring straight ahead, relaxed and blinking impatiently. She sighed_. If only to have that confidence…_

But why shouldn't she? She knew she could beat Draco any day. There wasn't even a chance to the contrary. Unless…well he had more experience, that was true. But he couldn't remember a Charm to save his life most of the time. Why was she worried?

Her stomach protested, explaining. _Because, stupid, he'll pair you with Potter. He always does. And if you don't win…_

"Potter and—"

She pushed her eyes shut. _Here it comes_.

"Malfoy."

Her eyes shot open, glaring at Snape.

"Granger and—"

This should have been Malfoy's partner… 

The Potions Master, to her surprise, returned her gaze with force. "Lee."

She swallowed, finding her throat quite dry. _What was he playing at now?_ What possible reason could he have to suddenly decide--

"Hello." The purse-lipped girl had already appeared by Lili's side, smoothing at her wildish brown hair.

Lili didn't answer.

"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger." She said her name as if it was, somehow, a fact worthy of much discussion. "I'm afraid I don't know your first name. Harry only refers to you as 'Lee.'"

She took a deep breath, and her voice sounded cold, even to her. "Lili."

A smile flickered across her partner's lips. "Lily? Oh that's rather odd, isn't it?"

"What?" She half-expected a snide comment. No doubt the girl had heard stories about her from Harry: stories as biting and unpleasant as the ones that were told of a certain Hermione Granger – Muggle-born, homely, and know-it-all.

So Lili was surprised to see her smile widen. "Oh, well, it's funny Harry hadn't mentioned it. You've his mum's name and all."

"What?"

"Oh, you know," the girl was looking uncomfortable now, wrapping bits of frizz around her fingers. "Harry's mum. Lily Potter. Formerly Evans. You look a bit like her too, from the pictures I've seen. Red hair, green eyes."

A piece dropped into place.

She ripped her gaze from Hermione and searched for Snape. He was reading off the last of the names, all but his face hidden now behind milling students.

_Could it be? _

"So how are you getting on here? It must be quite different than—"

"Um, yes, it's been fine."

_Nothing, Miss Lee. You merely reminded me of—someone else._

Potter's mother? Was _that_ who he meant? It certainly would explain his reaction upon hearing her name. But what could Snape possibly have to do with Potter's mother?

"Alright, that's everyone." It was Professor Flitwick again, standing atop his wooden box, examining the pairs with a smile. "Now, we'll get on with the dueling. First, bow."

Lili felt her body bowing, her mind still buzzing.

"Now, the object is to disarm your opponent. Remember, you can dodge their spells, you can deflect them. Use the two spells we've just learned."

Lili glanced over at Hermione who was herself watching Professor Flitwick. But when Lili turned to look at Flitwick, she was surprised to see him watching back, examining her and her partner through magnified eyes, smile like high-beams. She was suddenly aware that Snape, too, was watching them, eyes dull by comparison-- but interested nevertheless.

So that's what this was: a meeting of the minds, a challenge between house champions. She must have been Snape's pick: Hermione was Flitwick's. The butterflies in her stomach suddenly became a leaden Bludger.

"Alright, everyone! Good luck!" Flitwick pulled himself so tall out of excitement, he looked as if he might tumble backwards.

"Alright, then, shall we, erm—"

But Lili was in no mood to play about. She had something to prove, she knew that. She bowed gain, deep, and, drawing Hermione into a serious silence, raised her wand like a sword.

This was it. _Stay calm._ In the back of her head she heard Snape's voice, slow, severe. "One—"

She gripped her wand tighter.

"Two—"

The pounding of blood pumped loud in her ears. _Expelliarmus, _t_hat's all_. _That's all._

"Three!"

"_Expelli—_"

But she got no farther. She found herself on the floor, wand several feet away from her at Hermione's feet.

"Excellently done Miss Granger. Everyone! Everyone!" The room was now loud, half-stunned students groaning, trying to find their wands with much cursing-under-breath. "I want everyone to watch Miss Granger's form. Note her wand technique as well as her swift but accurate pronunciation. Please, try again ladies."

Lili's heart was still pounding, but there was something different in it now. The blood pulsing past her ears was boiling. She pushed herself up from the floor, snatched her wand, and watched Hermione with hard eyes. The little twerp was fast, she thought to herself, brushing at her robes, trying to ignore her smarting hip. _Just be calm_, she told herself, doing her best not to think about Snape skulking at her back. _Just breathe: you've gauged her now. You can do it._

The two girls raised their wands once more.

"One—"

_Breathe_.

"Two—"

She parted her lips, throat tight.

"Three!"

"_Cajolus Brusqum!_"

Once again she found herself on the floor, head ringing, wand nowhere in sight.

Flitwick was nodding again, pointing at Hermione. "Yes. This time Miss Granger has illustrated a perfect deflection as well as an excellent use of the Shoving Spell." The tiny professor offered a hand to Lili. "And Miss Lee here has shown us a superb use of innovation, though, in this case it was anticipated. Ten points for Gryffindor and Slytherin."

The compliment hurt even more. She looked about gruffly, daring anyone else to show her pity as she searched for her wand.

"Looking for this?"

Snape's voice struck her ears as a heavy blow, even for all its silk and low tones. He extended his hand, her wand tangled in his fingers.

She took it without a look in his direction, breathing hard, and, she was vaguely aware, shaking. The eyes fixed on her—including Snape's—made tears begin to burn in the back of her throat.

She banished them. _You'll show them_. _Just be calm_.

Hermione faced her again, lips pursed as if from the effort of holding back her satisfaction.

_Damn smug little thing, aren't you?_

"Alright, ladies, let's try once more. I want everyone to notice how these two change their approaches based on experience. Notice that they change…"

_You bet I will. I know what to do this time_.

She bowed.

"Three! Two! One!"

Lili dodged the first of Hermione's spells. Better to begin with the defensive, she decided. She deflected another, but Hermione hit her with a Shoving Spell, pushing her sharply into a wall.

It had not managed to disarm her. "_Cajolus brusqum!_"

Hermione deflected it easily.

_Damn._ She dodged again but not quickly enough. She spun to the floor, ankle wrenched and searing with sudden pain. Her tear-filled eyes looked up the end of Hermione's wand, and, quite suddenly, she felt a slow but fierce panic. Her eyes met Hermione's, over the long, slender vinewood, and she knew the spell would hit soon. Behind her, Snape, watched, a frown. And, all around her, wide-eyed students: Gryffindors overjoyed, Slytherins disappointed, and the other houses merely entranced. She saw Draco watching, white eyes cold. _Damn_. _Damn_. The tears stung and her ankle sang in pain.

She raised her wand, shaking, convulsing, tears jolting through her eyes. This girl—all that she'd worked to prove—all that she'd begun to pride herself on. _Damn Know-it-all._ _Damn her_. It was a rush of anger that shook her heart.

"_Shitou xin!_"

Hermione's wand flew across the room, and the girl collapsed to the stone floor with a strangled cry.

Lili caught her breath in a quick moment of triumph. She had done it. She had won. _How was that for wand form, for annunciation, for ino—_

Something choked in her throat.

Hermione was on the floor, crumpled in a ball, still, unbreathing. Flitwick and Snape rushed to her.

What had she said? _What had she said?_ For a horrible second she couldn't remember. _It had been Expelliarmus, hadn't it?_

Snape turned the girl over gently. She was breathing, but barely, eyes wide and unblinking. The girl's skin had turned a pale gray, her lips drained of color.

Lili trembled. It hadn't been _Expelliarmus_. That was the result of one thing, one curse. Her shaking, tear-filled eyes met Snape's, sobs choking in her throat.

"What did you do?" Professor Flitwick was shouting at her.

"I—I—"

"What spell did you use?" It was Snape now: his voice had teeth. But worse were his eyes, smoldering, black and filled with revulsion.

She opened her mouth, but sound refused to come. Her heart was aching in a way she couldn't explain. _Why—why had she_—

But she knew why.

"Miss Lee! Tell us! Now!"

Snape's voice cut through her, tearing her. Her ankle screamed in pain. "I—I—"

But she couldn't answer. She fainted. The darkness felt oddly welcome.


	6. Queen of Slytherin

**_Chapter Six_****: Queen of Slytherin**

The dungeons were unusually cold, even over the heat of simmering cauldrons. She drew her robes closer, cursing herself for not bringing a cloak.

"A pinch of orchid leaf."

Snape didn't seem bothered by the cold. He looked over her shoulder on occasion, suggesting something, but otherwise went on as if everything was as it should be.

She turned to grab a bottle of orchid leaf, and her ankle protested. She allowed herself only a brief hiss before squeezing the bottle and returning to her work.

"Your ankle?" A question, no concern.

"Yes."

"I have some Pain-relieving Potion in the second cabinet there—"

"No, I'll be fine."

The pain rushed up her leg, biting. The brace they had given her was healing the sprain but did little to assuage the hurt.

All the better. _You deserve to feel it. Think of Hermione, still lying in the hospital wing, still recovering because you—_

Because you weren't strong enough to take a little bit of humiliation.

She put all of her weight on the ankle, feeling the pain and contrition tremble up her bones. If Dumbledore wasn't willing to punish her adequately, she'd do it to herself.

McGonagall had been the only one with her head on straight, really. She'd wanted Lili expelled--demanded it. But Flitwick and Dumbledore managed to calm her, with a lot of twinkling eyes and beard stroking. No permanent harm had been done. Miss Granger would recover within two weeks. Punishment was in order, yes, but not expulsion.

Lili looked up at Snape, bent over a cauldron across the dungeon from her.

_Let me take care of her_, he had whispered to Dumbledore, eyes stuck in her, full of venom. _She is, after all, in my house._ This sent McGonagall back into fits.

But Snape _had_ dealt with her. Her "extra-credit" had become detention, and he was certain to make it as painful as he could. He kept her unbelievably long hours, snapped at and cursed her, threatened to replace her with Hermione as soon as possible. But, what was worse, his eyes--now completely walls. He had seen a part of her that made her ashamed. She'd lost his confidence. And her own.

And why shouldn't he lose confidence in her? Her father and Artibius had been right: she couldn't handle Hac Dao. It had waited for a moment of weakness…and it had used her. Or she had used it. She couldn't yet decide which.

And still, whatever punishment Snape could offer, was not enough. Only she knew the severity of the spell she had used. If she had used it at Zhong Mo Xue, expulsion would have been a foregone conclusion. She was lucky no one here knew much about Chinese magic.

"Miss Lee, you're going to let your cauldron boil over if you don't _pay attention_."

Letting her mind wander, she had neglected to stir the Exploding Elixir. "Sorry, Professor."

"Do you have any newt livers over there?"

"Uh—yes, I do. Two jars."

"Bring them over here."

She leaned down and lowered the fire on her cauldron long enough to take him the jars and help him open and stir them in.

"I hear, Miss Lee, that you visited Miss Granger this morning."

It was the first real comment he'd made to her since the incident. She plunged the spoon back into her own potion, turning up the fire once more. "Yes."

Silence.

"I did." Adding this sounded pathetic, but she was desperate for him to say something more.

"Why, pray tell, did you do that, Miss Lee?" He did not look up.

"I don't know. I guess to apologize."

"And did you—" he spat the last word, "_apologize_?"

The disgust in his voice forced her to turn back to the potion, grinding weight into her ankle. "Yes, I did. We actually had a bit of a talk about it. And then her friends decided to—interrupt."

"Mister Potter?"

"Yes. He had a few things to say about my heritage, my habits, my intelligence, looks, and a few names to call me." Every bit of her concentration strained to focus on the potion instead of the knot in her chest. "As did Mister Weasley."

"Yes, I imagine Mister Weasley _did_." This seemed to amuse him. He stirred for a few more moments before asking, "And what did you tell them, Miss Lee?"

He looked up and, through the rising steam of the cauldrons, only the severe wall of his eyes glittered clear.

"I told them—they were—right." All she would allow herself to see was the bubbling liquid. Her stomach bubbled the same.

She had looked them straight in the eyes and told them she agreed: worthless, corrupt, malicious…any number of things. She was skin pulled over something rotten, and, though it was difficult to hear from Potter and Weasley, she couldn't deny it. The proof, as she'd heard her father say so many times before, is in the pudding.

A thin-fingered hand grazed her arm. She jumped.

Snape was beside her, looking down his hooked nose at the Exploding Elixir. For the first time since the incident, she saw that pinprick of light couched in the black of his eyes.

He extinguished it, but it had been unmistakable.

"You're stirring this the wrong way, Miss Lee." It was less of an accusation than she had become accustomed to. He kept his hand on her arm and directed her movements. "You need practice with your stirring. Most people overlook it, trivialize it, but it's quite important. It can change the texture, the combination of already volatile ingredients. Stirring technique shows the difference between an professional and an inept amateur." He turned away, disentangling the spoon. Sweat was beading on his brow and his colorless skin reflected bright red from the cauldron. "But you seem to have managed adequately."

And suddenly she saw it there. He had done something too. He had done something he regretted and hated himself afterwards. And he…understood. She felt a weight lift from her chest and words huff out dry. "Thank you—Professor."

"No need to thank me, Miss Lee, it was your work." His left sleeve mopped his brow and pushed back a stray, limp hair without seeming guided by his body. "I think you've done enough work for the evening, and I have been keeping you rather late."

"Actually, Professor, I have a couple of Revitalizing Tonics here I thought I could finish." It was the first time she hadn't wanted to leave.

"Well, if you've already started."

She felt the corners of her mouth turn for the first time since the Dueling Club.

_Yanjing hei, linian hei_: Hui had been right. Something inside Snape was casting those shadows on his eyes, eating at him until his cheeks grew sunken and his body gaunt. She allowed herself only several glances in his direction while she thought, pinching fairywing half-heartedly. She wondered if he would ever tell her: if he had told anyone at all.

She worked at least another hour in silence, adding an ever-increasing amount of fairywing, stirring gently and watching the liquid bubble into a delicate lilac color. The smell overcame her, clotting in her throat.

"It smells as though you've finished the tonics."

His voice startled her. "Y--yes. Just finished."

"They look fine. Bottle them before you go."

She complied, bottling and scouring her cauldrons before, uncertainly, she looked up at Snape, searching for some further response. He continued to stir his concoction which, from the look of it, was Veritaserum. She waited several minutes while he added a few ingredients as Veritaserum was a difficult potion: she could only imagine the wrath of a potions master disturbed.

"You may go, Miss Lee," he said, adding a bit more tincture of denny toad, "if you answer just one question for me."

"Sir?" It was her turn to mop her brow automatically.

"Tell me, Miss Lee." He paused, stirring a few seconds more, letting her squirm. "If you had used the Stone-heart Hex at your old school, what would have become of you?"

It was like looking down the end of a wand. "S—sir? How did—you--?"

"I'll admit, Miss Lee, I don't know much about Eastern magic," he sighed, eyes still turned down in concentration. "But if there is one thing I know, it's the after effects of a dark curse. I looked it up. I think it must be quite a serious spell."

Her own heart felt like stone. "It is, sir. I—I should never have even considered uttering it."

"And where would a Lee learn such dark magic?"

"Sir, that's two questions."

He did not seem amused, and she certainly wasn't in any position to keep the information secret. Her eyes found the floor as if by instinct. "A Lee learned that sort of magic in places she wasn't strong or intelligent enough to have been looking," she muttered, remembering late nights at Zhong Mo Xue, reading books on Hac Dao from the restricted section.

He pursed his lips, intent on the clear liquid bubbling beneath his hand. He seemed to be looking through it, at something far away. "Well, at least you've that much sense, Miss Lee." He sighed. "Good night."

But she stayed, rutted in place. She wanted to know: she wanted to lift something from him as he had from her.

He glanced up at her, cheeks shadowed and drenched in condensation. "Good _night_, Miss Lee."

"Professor?"

His gaze encouraged only caution.

"Did you know Harry Potter's mother?"

He dropped his spoon, causing Veritaserum to splash dangerously. Cursing, he reached down into the cauldron, searching for it, eyes madly avoiding hers. Even when the spoon was recovered and the mess cleaned, he did not look up again. "What was _that_, Miss Lee?"

He was trying to discourage her. _Silly Slytherin_. This, of course, merely intrigued her more. "I asked if you knew Harry Potter's mother? I—I think her name was _Lily_."

Snape's eyes followed the roiling surface of the cauldron a long while before he sighed, shaking his head. "I think, Miss Lee, Slytherin has had some negative influences on you."

Lili allowed herself a small grin. "Hermione told me her name was Lily. She also said I—I looked a bit like her."

"More than a bit," Snape said, removing his dragonhide gloves as if resigned to answering. "You do bear a good resemblance to her, yes."

"So you did know her?" Lili pressed, charting his every move, expression. His lips twitched, his eyes sunk to the floor, just as hers had minutes before: his dexterous hands grew, suddenly, more rigid and still.

"Yes, I did. She and Harry's father were the same year as I. Gryffindors of course. Lily and I were partners in Potions for a short time. It was my only contact with her."

Lili found this somewhat unlikely and let him know so without a word.

To her surprise, a wan smile stretched across the Potion Master's face, a smile she found as disconcerting as it was thin. "She was quite hopeless in Potions. I tutored her a bit, that's all. And then, when I saw you, it reminded me. It struck me as an interesting irony, you in Slytherin, she a Gryffindor. That's _all_."

Lili started to scoff, but Snape crossed his arms in a way that brooked no response.

"I see."

"Now, Miss Lee, I think we've both had enough of the Inquisition for this evening. I would be more than glad to bid you good night."

Her heart was beating in a slow, deliberate effort to keep herself composed. She had pushed him, and he had given way, if even just for a moment. She had the upper hand.

Turning to leave, she couldn't resist just one more thing. "Professor Snape?"

He was no longer watching the potion, his eyes fixed, unfocused, on a particularly uninteresting wall. "What?" A tone that welcomed nothing.

"You're going to let your cauldron boil over if you don't _pay attention." _She let her voice rise and fall, mocking his.

He stared back at her, refusing to smile or scowl, as he waved her away.

* * *

As it turned out, the incident at the Dueling Club did nothing but improve Lili's time in Slytherin. Word traveled with its usual quick stealth that the spell she'd used was some Eastern equivalent of an Unforgivable—an entertaining but apocryphal rumor—and, almost instantly, Lili was given a wide berth. Gryffindors bristled at the sight of her, Ravenclaws wisely averted their eyes: even some of the professors occasionally offered their sideways looks. Her marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts wavered. But, once within the confines of Slytherin, people side-stepped as if she were royalty, deferring to her opinion, nodding thoughtfully after any word she spoke. She found herself surrounded by first-years eager only, it seemed, to hear her voice. It was unnecessary to prove herself anymore. She had done it with one curse hurled in a moment of weakness. Slytherins seemed inexplicably drawn to the exercise of power without reservation: and at that moment, Lili had let everyone know that, without regard for anything else, she was _powerful_.

And she hated herself for it. She hated every minute of reverence, every doe-eyed first year asking for an explanation of this curse, that hex. More than anything, she hated that --for the one reason she couldn't enjoy-- everyone now loved her.

That at least, Hui had pointed out, was a very good sign.

Only one place afforded her even the least bit of privacy and freedom from awed whispers. She spent increasingly long hours in the dungeons, helping Snape with several of the easier Ministry requests. After that night of questioning in the dungeon, he forced a truce, never mentioning the Dueling Club or the Stone Heart Hex again. Provided (though the stipulation was never spoken) that she, in return, not delve any deeper into any issues of his past.

So it was only with Snape that the praise she received felt fully justified: when she did well, he told her so, if only in a pure Slytherin way. And, of course, when she did poorly, he didn't neglect to draw her attention to it.

So she went on, taking any excuse she could to get to the dungeons earlier and stay later, avoiding prying eyes, or, what was worse, obsequious ones.

After several months, however, the scandal mellowed. While Lili remained the newly dubbed "Queen of Slytherin," the respect paid her became more out of habit than fear. Millicent forgot about the Dueling Club and found time to insult Lili now and again. Artibius even seemed to forgive and forget, becoming his old self, accepting _suan mei_ as fast as she could dish them out.

But not everything was falling into place. Slytherin was only second in line for the Quidditch Cup. It was the sort of thing that made Draco particularly irritable: the sort of thing that gave rise to a fresh wave of enmity in Slytherin—most especially towards the Gryffindors who, as chance had it, would be the likely victors. Lili, keeping with the loyalty she held for her house, respected the discontent though she cared little for the sport itself. Beyond that, she just felt sorry for Draco, who, it seemed, would never get a fair shake against Harry Potter. The Potter boy was beginning to appear blessed, and, after the final match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco had sustained more than a broken wrist.

A week later, Draco cast aside the wrist brace but continued nursing his other wounds. He had taken to late night flying sessions, alone, to "practice" he said. Just in case Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Slytherin won against Hufflepuff, and they would have to play a tie-breaker. No one, not even Lili, felt it right to point out just how unlikely this would be.

And then Gryffindor won against Hufflepuff. But the late night flying continued.

"When someone has something to prove to himself," Hui had said, perched under inky bamboo, "they don't understand the word 'no.'"

Lili considered this, squinting upwards, trying to pick out Draco's form from among the clouds. The Quidditch pitch was thick with shadow and silence.

"Draco!" she shouted up at the sky, still searching. It was almost midnight. She shouldn't have been out of bed, but she was getting worried, even if she didn't want to admit it. Snape had given her a pass allowing her in the corridors after hours, and she was, she told herself, merely using it for a necessary errand.

A figure zoomed behind the clouds, but she was unable to tell if it was Draco or merely an owl off on delivery. "Draco!"

The figure zoomed past again, and, squinting, she realized it was, after all, an owl.

"Damn." She drew her cloak tighter, slipping on the gloves she had brought just in case. It was almost December, and tiny dots of white fell like stars from the cloud-blanketed sky.

"Lili?"

There was a slight rustling from behind one of the goal posts. Draco's pale form shifted, ghostly, in the shadows. "Lili is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

There was a long silence. He didn't emerge any farther.

"Look, Draco, it's late. You gotta come in. If McGonagall catches you, she'll take points."

He shifted, letting half his face emerge from the shadow of the goal post, eyes glittering. "McGonagall doesn't stop the Queen of Slytherin?"

_Finally_, she thought, relieved. That was the normal, suave-yet-snide Draco. She almost feared she'd interrupted a inappropriately introspective Slytherin moment.

"Snape gave me a pass. If you come back with me, no one can stop us."

"I don't wanna go back. Not tired. Still some flying to do."

Not knowing what to say, she tried moving towards him gingerly. The black of the goal post nestled atop her, hiding her from the glaring eye of the moon.

Draco sat, back pressed against the goal post, broom at his feet. His face was turned upwards, dots of clouds bouncing off his gray eyes. "Besides, it's not a bad evening."

"Are you kidding? It's bloody freezing. And it's about to really snow. You ought to come in."

He didn't respond, keeping his eyes turned up, fingers laced over his knees. Lili was overcome with the feeling he was both a little boy and an old man all at once: it was a battle between innocence and weariness she had never seen in him before. She didn't have to ask what was wrong.

"So, Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff."

His eyes remained fixed.

"Heard it was a dreadfully dull game."

Only a half-mumbled "Mmmm. Lucky twits. Lot of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers."

There was a dense and cold silence, the clouds slowing until they seemed frozen to the sky. The snow was falling harder now, melting in a burst as it touched the bare, warm skin of her face.

"You must really love flying to come out in this." It seemed one of few safe areas of conversation available.

"Yeah. I don't know why, but I love it. Especially at night. You can see the stars so close and clear you almost think you can reach out and pop 'em right in your mouth like candy." A sneer. "And once and a while, I'll fly by the East Tower and get a ripping funny view of Trelawney in her cucumber mask and frillies."

Lili chuckled. An excellent Slytherin maneuver: hide something poetic and deeply personal inside something irreverent and humorous. "Well, you're good at it. Flying, I mean." It was true. For all the bribing Draco had apparently done to get his position as Seeker, he had worked since at improving his skill. --And not without result.

His face took on an entirely different light, pale skin souring. "Not as good as Potter." It was an ugly face.

Her heart skipped. She had not expected something so forthright. Never before had she heard him admit that Potter was good. At anything.

She opened her mouth but found herself unable to decide the most tactful response.

"It's okay; I know it's true." He glanced over at her with a drawn disgust, letting his eyes fall to the ground as slow and cold as the snow. "It's just…That game—it was my chance."

Anger was bubbling on the surface, but beneath she sensed something else. "Chance to what?"

"To show Potter up."

He said it so simply, so easily, Lili couldn't believe it.

"I mean, it was my last chance to prove to everyone that I could do it. I could beat him and beat him good. And I failed. He still beat me." He grabbed his wrist, whether purposely or without thought, Lili couldn't tell. "And he managed to make me look like a moron in the process, knocking me into the stands like that." The anger waxed. "He always does. Somehow, I always end up on the downside of everything with him." His eyes met hers, sharp as she'd seen them a hundred times when he faced Potter. "But I suppose you wouldn't know much about being on the downside. You've got a lot of stuff going for you and everyone knows you're the best at this, at that. Queen of Slytherin, eh?" His voice had become ambivalent, and she couldn't tell if the anger was directed at her, Potter, or the universe-at-large .

"I don't see why you compare yourself to Potter in the first place."

He looked away, saying nothing.

"I mean, sure he's good at flying. He's not bad in his classes. And what's he famous for? Well, as far as I can see, he's famous for his bleeding _dumb luck_." This, at least, made Draco snort in agreement. "Maybe you're not as good a flyer. Maybe you are. Potter may win again and again. Maybe this time his bravery doesn't get him killed. Maybe this time his rule-breaking turns out for the best. But luck, now that's a double-edged sword. Hui—er, a friend of mine-- taught me a saying: 'Luck will carry you half way across the river. If you have nothing else, you'll drown.' So, let the baby have his bottle. Eventually, people will figure out that his dumb luck is no match for skill. And, half-way across the river, he'll have to find someone to help him out." She forced a strong grin, feeling a little weaker with this than she wanted Draco to know. "So, just wait. And, in the mean time, ignore him. He's not worth anyone's attention anyway. The more you worry about him, the more you help make him famous for being in the wrong place at the right time."

Draco was quiet for a long time, fiddling absently with the twig-end of his broom. She didn't know why in the world she was saying any of this. She wasn't sure she believed what she had said: Harry Potter probably had more skill than that. They said he'd survived an attack by You-Know-Who himself. But that wasn't what Draco needed to hear. And, for some strange reason, deep in her gut, she really hoped that, someday, Draco would, through luck or skill of his own, give Harry Potter a good wallop. Physically, mentally, she didn't care. As long as, someday, somehow, Draco could satisfy himself that, besides a scar and an odd past, Harry Potter was no better than anyone else—not even a Slytherin.

"Lili?"

He was looking at her again, snow falling light on his gold-white hair.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you'd go to the Yule Ball with me this year?"

Another jolt of her heart, this time bouncing down to the bottom of her stomach. He must be joking. Sure, he had spent some time practicing dueling with her. And he had tried to talk to her the night she'd been so upset about her father. But…the Yule Ball?

"Oh, well, don't answer all at once." He seemed, for a moment, to retreat behind his sneer.

She realized that her face was drawn up in a sort of surprised terror, and did her best to shake it off. "Oh, no—no. I was just, surprised, that's all." Her cold skin suddenly flushed with warmth.

"Well I understand if the Queen of Slytherin doesn't want to—"

She balked.

"I usually go with Pansy, but she's a right twit. You're a much stronger witch: one my dad might not be ashamed to see me make an alliance with. We're just more—fitting—as far as what we want, don't you think?"

"Yeah." The words tumbled out, strangely, against her better judgment. What part of her had said that? Fitting?

It was true, he had understood her better than anyone. After all, he, too, had something to prove. But a date? A formal? Her entire body tingled, half giddy with surprise, half disgusted at the prospect. Friendship was comfortable: anything beyond that wasn't. Especially, for some reason, with Draco. The idea of--

_Making an alliance with_. Okay, so he wasn't the next Casanova. But maybe he was right. Maybe they were…fitting. In a way. That night, by the fire, he sure had seemed to understand…

"I…yeah. I'll go with you."

_Wait, what did _he_ mean by fitting?_

But she couldn't take the words back now. He was already standing, brushing his robes, offering her a hand up from the cold and increasingly wet ground. His face was hard and pleased, like someone who had just closed a particularly lucrative deal.

It would be okay. It was just the Yule Ball. She wasn't signing a contract or pledging an oath. Hell, they were at least friends. "Fitting" friends.

"Well," he said, picking his broom up from the snow-dusted ground with a flourish. "If you're the Queen of Slytherin, I suppose that makes me the King?" The crooked grin returned.

Her face warmed with the smile. He was still Draco, Yule Ball or no. "Your majesty," she said, curtseying deeply.

He chuckled, and, for the first time since she'd met him, it was without a hint of anything biting or nasty. He straightened his broom parallel from the ground and gestured to it simply. "Let me escort you back to the castle?"

She was unsure if the ink of the night would blot over the pink in her cheeks or the tremor of her hands. As strong as she normally felt, the weakness was unnerving enough to make her fumble slightly—not with lovesickness but genuine uncertainty.

Cautious, she mounted the broomstick, laying a hand awkwardly on Draco's shoulder for support.

He pushed off with a jolt, spiraling up into the dark, spotted night. Her already churning stomach flopped. Snow flew like static into her eyes.

For a moment, the anxiety melted away into exhilaration. The world was far away, and she was above, apart, looking down at her own pinprick footprints.

And, half shrouded in dark, half glowing with moonlight, Lili suddenly found herself in no particular rush to return to the castle.


	7. Beware Slytherins Bearing Gifts

**_Chapter Seven_****: Beware of Slytherins Bearing Gifts**

Lili leaned forward, looking squarely at the top of Dia's head. "Come on, Dia! Out with it!"

Dia remained stiff-backed, eyes on her plate. She hadn't opened her mouth for more than a few bites since they sat down to dinner. Her skin, normally so ghostly white, had turned almost as red as Lili's hair.

"Oh, she'll never tell." It was a first-year and one of Lili's faithful followers, Mishal Chamcha. The older girls tolerated her company at dinner due to her seemingly inexhaustible archive of current scandals, rumors, and other juicy tidbits.

"That's because she hasn't got one." Millicent took only a brief second from attacking her turkey leg.

"No, Millicent, _she_ has a date for the Yule Ball. You must have been confusing her with yourself."

Millicent stared murderously over the turkey leg but knew better than to challenge Lili with Mishal and Dia there. One hint of trouble and Lili's entourage of followers would flock, including her newest bodyguard, Crabbe. Lili glanced over her shoulder at him, a landmass looming behind her. He was standing –having already inhaled his dinner—eyes flat and dull, looking as if nothing in the world was on his mind. He had been a "gift" from Draco: a gesture she found rather disturbing.

She turned her attention back to the part in Dia's hair, lifting her fork and sighing in a casual manner. "It's Daniel Burge, isn't it?" It was her best guess. Dia had been flirting on and off with Daniel, a fifth-year Slytherin and their Quidditch team's Keeper, ever since he helped extricate her from some Strangler Vine she had been growing for extra-credit in Herbology.

Dia remained silent, swirling some string beans across her plate.

"I knew it!" Mishal shouted, black eyes glowing in triumph. "He's not at all bad, Dia!" Lili, Millicent and Mishal looked down the table at him, appraising. "I mean, I wouldn't have been so secretive if I were you. He's quite dashing. Sure he's a little younger, but—"

"It's not Daniel."

Lili's gaze jerked back, surprised. "What?"

"It's not Daniel." The girl was practically bathing her face in her dinner now, looking as if she wanted to hide in a rather large pile of mashed potatoes. "He's going with Pansy. You know, since she's not going with Draco this year."

Mishal and Lili traded dark looks.

"I'm sorry," Mishal said, at some length.

"I'm not," Dia sighed, pushing her plate away. "He was dreadfully dull. He's alright to look at, but there's not much going on upstairs, let me tell you." She pursed her lips. "Besides he's the type who can't get him mind off his –er, _wand_—long enough to hear a word you have to say."

Mishal giggled. "Then Pansy should be right up his alley, eh?"

All four girls smiled Slytherin smiles: drawn, sly, and dripping with venomous pleasure.

A long pause filled with the clanking of forks, the slurping of juice, the low roar of a hundred conversations echoing off the walls before…

"So who the hell is it!" Mishal was losing it. She prided herself on knowing every hint of gossip in the school: her patience for the secrecy seemed to be wearing thin.

"Leave her alone, Mishal," Lili said, a tone of mock-scolding, leaning in towards the first-year with a grin. "If Dia wants to keep her secrets let her. And, when people ask us who her date is, we'll just shrug and say, 'We're not sure, but we think it's _Neville Longbottom.'_"

Mishal laughed and Millicent looked as if she might spray pumpkin juice out her nose.

It hadn't been a serious threat, but apparently it was enough to make Dia squirm. "Look, I would like to tell you, I'm sure. But I promised him I wouldn't." Her eyes darted, almost imperceptibly towards the Gryffindor table.

_Almost_ imperceptibly. --And nothing subtle escapes a keen, Slytherin eye.

"A Gryffindor?" Millicent roared. "Don't tell me you're going with a Gryffindor!"

"Great Merlin, it might just _be_ Neville Longbottom," Mishal mumbled.

"It is _not_."

"Then who is it?" Lili pressed. She could see Dia's gaze flickering, just on the edge of giving in. "Come on, we won't make fun, I promise." She shot the other girls severe looks. "Come on…"

"Alright, alright." Dia's voice crashed until it was almost inaudible.

"It's Seamus Finnigan."

"Oooooo!" Mishal had the smile of one given a precious jewel. "Seamus? Why in the world—"

"Shhhhhh!"

Millicent looked ready to lose her dinner. "Ugg, that's disgusting. Really, Dia, a Gryffindor? And not even a decent-looking one at that."

"At least I have a date, Millicent," she spat, seeming, for the first time since they had begun their interrogation, her normal self. "He's perfectly nice, and he makes me laugh. Besides, we've been dating on and off since the beginning of term."

Mishal shot Lili a look of ecstatic shock. Apparently, the value of that precious jewel had just tripled. "_The start of term_?"

Dia nodded.

Lili's eyes shot open in realization. "So _that's_ where you've been running off to on the Hogsmeade trips! I _knew_ you weren't that interested in examining the new shipment of Herbology books at Madame Circe's Discount Tome Emporium…"

The blush in Dia's cheeks spread across her entire face. "Yeah. Just before the start of term, he ran into me in Diagon Alley: knocked me over and all the books I'd bought went flying. I called him all manner of names, and he didn't even flinch: just gathered up all my books and asked me if he could apologize by treating me to a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. We've been meeting in Hogsmeade since the start of term. He's surprisingly charming. --And I would never have expected a Gryffindor to know so many practical joke spells. Rather reminds me of George Weasley."

"Oh, and she had such a disgusting thing for him," Millicent snarled. "Gryffindor trash. If you had any sense, you'd realize it just isn't right associating with them. Might as well be chumming up with Harry-bloody-Potter."

"Put a sock in it, Millicent."

Lili leaned back, determined to take some heat off Dia. "Well, Millicent, it _is_ the last minute. Maybe you shouldn't overlook Gryffindor, eh? I hear Neville Longbottom is still available…"

Dia and Mishal doubled over with laughter, Mishal managing to spit string beans half-way across the table. Several nearby third years who had been eavesdropping, couldn't suppress giggles themselves.

Millicent slammed her meaty fists on the table, face going red.

"Actually," Mishal wheezed between guffaws, "I hear he's --going with a Hufflepuff sixth year—named—Janice Silver—" She fell back into laughter.

"Alas!"

Millicent shot up, stocky body trembling like jelly-covered concrete. "Oh you all can just— just—_sod off_!" She threw her napkin at Dia's head and stormed out of the hall nearly bowling over Crabbe. The doors of the Great Hall slammed loudly, and, for a few moments, everyone glanced over at the Slytherin table in curious silence. Lili felt the uncomfortable pause as many pairs of eyes sweep across her, then, slowly, conversations resumed.

"I'd better go on after her." Mishal had eyes like a hungry jackal's. "If she cries, people'll want to know…"

Lili went back to her food, satisfied now by Dia's answer. Well, somewhat satisfied. Part of her, like Millicent, reacted rather strongly against the idea of dating a Gryffindor, but she decided, anything she had in common with Millicent would be best ignored if not excised altogether. If Dia was happy, that was that. And, Lili thought with some sadistic satisfaction, if Finnigan did do anything to hurt her, Lili'd have double the reason to curse him out of existence.

"So—Lili—" Dia was resting her chin lightly on her hand. "What do you—I mean, do you think Seamus—"

"He seems fine," she sighed, taking a sip from her goblet. "If he treats you right, I suppose it's okay that he's a Gryffindor." They exchanged grins.

And then Lili's mind wandered, quite randomly, to Draco. They had been meeting almost every night for the last two weeks out on the Quidditch pitch. If Snape had wondered why she asked to leave by ten, he said nothing.

Lili found particular exhilaration in the flying. There was something relieving about leaving the ground, leaving behind the common room, the castle, the suffocation of the stone and earth. Ascending she felt as though she could shed all the questions, the worries, and the insignificant quibbles. She felt only fear and elation.

She smiled, seeing Draco in her mind, pressed down hard on the broom, goggles like the ends of glass bottles over his eyes. He had promised to teach her to fly some time soon. She was actually looking forward to it.

"I bought my dress robes at The Witch's Wardrobe last weekend. It's quite nice. Pale yellow, some emerald green trim. I think it'll look lovely with some saffron ribbons in my hair."

Lili winced but tried not to let it show. Dia had many strong qualities but color-coordination certainly wasn't among them.

"Have you found anything to wear yet?"

She couldn't help but frown. She had been thinking about this for some time now as it would be impossible to write her father asking for money to buy formal robes. What small funds she did have proved insufficient for any but the poorest quality of second-hand robes--and she certainly had no desire to be compared with a Weasley.

"I think I'll just have to wear some old robes from Zhong Mo Xue," she said, taking a long swig of juice in an attempt to appear offhand rather than disappointed. Her robes from Zhong Mo Xue weren't exactly formal, but they looked different enough to be passed off, she supposed. Blue silk, a mandarin-style collar, and silver threading: though somewhat worn and certainly not what she had hoped for, it would have to do. The Yule Ball was only two days away.

"Well, I'm sure you'll look smashing no matter what. I don't think Draco'll much mind, what with having the Queen of Slytherin on his arm." She grinned, knowing just how much Lili hated this epithet.

Not realizing it, she'd begun tracing out wood-burn patterns on the table-top. "It sounds as if he'll be wearing the top of the line…." He'd told her last week that he'd purchased some smashing silk robes from Madame Malkin's. 52 Galleons.

She didn't like the idea of looking shabby next to anyone.

"Miss Lee."

She turned. "Professor Snape, sir." He was standing behind her, Crabbe having scurried off at his approach. His gaunt figure loomed, imposing against the deep indigo of the sky-ceiling, and, in some effort to put herself more at ease, she stood.

"I was hoping, Miss Lee, you might come by early this evening. I have some rather difficult potions on order this week, and they are going to take a considerable amount of time."

"Yes, of course, professor, I was just finishing." She laid her napkin on the table, abandoning the thin wood circles. It would do her some good to get her mind off the Yule Ball and on something useful. She felt altogether too much of a child if she dwelled on such things for long.

"Lili! Lili!"

Mishal Chamcha had burst into the Hall, shouting Lili's name through huffs of breath. It was enough to draw everyone's attention back to the Slytherin table.

Snape stopped, turning an only half-interested eye.

"Li-li," Mishal puffed, slumping down on the bench beside Dia, seeming oblivious to everyone else, including Snape.

"What? What is it?" Lili couldn't stop her heart from racing. The girl had obviously run all the way from the Slytherin common room, and Lili was overcome by horrible visions of Millicent throwing Hui down a staircase or, worse, following up on innumerable promises to use Artibius as target practice.

"Your—in your—room." Mishal began to splutter and around thirty Slytherins hurried to offer her a goblet. The girl drank slowly, seeming to relish one of her many moments as the bearer of news. Lili, exasperated, contented herself with merely balling and unballing her fists. "You have to come see. It's—it's." She managed only to wheeze. "Go—look."

She turned to Snape, a look of frantic questioning.

"I'll prepare things in the dungeons." In a rush of robes he disappeared, his shadow trailing at a distance, flickering its disapproval silently.

But her feet had already begun carrying her, at a run, out the Hall, Mishal and Dia close in tow. _Please don't let it be Artibius or Hui. Please don't let it be bad…_Her heart attempted to leap up her throat, and she was able to catch it only by gritting her teeth.

"Parseltongue!" she shouted at the stone wall. It seemed to roll aside much more slowly than normal.

The common room was almost empty, except for the large throng of people now following Lili and a dour Millicent who sat, sulking, in a fire-lit chair.

Lili didn't stop to notice. She vaulted up the stairs, stomach tossing food about violently. Mishal wouldn't have called her like that for something little: whatever was inside, would be—she didn't want to know.

Shaking, she pushed her way in.

"Lili?"

It was Hui's voice from the opposite side of her bed.

"Hui?" she called, taking several steps forward, gingerly. He didn't sound upset or hurt, and that, at least, was reassuring. Artibius swooped down from the ceiling, clicking excitedly. "Artibius," she sighed, the tenseness in her shoulders uncoiling. Everyone was okay: so what could--

Hui was standing beneath his tree, looking out from his painting with widely-stroked eyes. "_Lili, ni kan a! Chuang shang!_"

But Lili had already seen it.

It was hard to miss, really, draped over the edge of her bed, pooling onto the floor. It shimmered, shone in the torchlight. She gasped.

"Oh, Lili…" Dia clasped a hand over her mouth.

She leaned over, touching it light, expecting it, at any minute, to disappear in a puff of smoke. It didn't.

"They're the most beautiful robes I've ever seen," Mishal whispered, perched on the edge of Dia's bed, jackal-eyes glowing. "I couldn't believe it."

But Lili didn't hear a word, still reeling from the sight. It fell in showers of silk, curving out with a delicate sheen. Every edge, every seam and hem, seemed to glow, as if, somehow the dress was enchanted. Tiny emeralds lined the sleeves, forming shimmering veins that dripped down the length of the gown, arcs and lines kissing each other with a glow of lustrous diamonds. Lili picked it up, gently, from the bed. The fabric flowed like liquid in her hands, and she realized, to her delight, that the entire dress was green and silver—Slytherin colors. She felt tears stinging in her eyes.

"Check the tag," Mishal instructed, shaking anxiously. Obviously, she had already done so.

Lili turned it out. _Lady of the Lake Designers Inc._

"Lady of the Lake! Do you know how much a dress like that costs!"

She didn't, but she could guess. She held it up to herself, already knowing it would fit perfectly. It was as if, somehow, the dress had been made for her and her alone.

"And won't that look lovely with your eye color…"

Lili turned to Hui, eyes teary but a smile spread across her face. "Hui—_shei_—"

He grinned. "It was your young man. He told me to tell you that he wished he could be here to give it to you, unfortunately, he had an unavoidable detention."

"Draco," she whispered, laying the dress carefully across her bed, unable to take her eyes off it.

"Yes," Hui said. "A Mister Draco Malfoy. I believe he left you a note."

She looked about frantically, searching. Her heart was pounding, now, from joy.

Probing, she felt it beneath her pillow. Her eyes jumped over it as best they could, still bubbling with the beginnings of tears. "Dear Lili…" She read in silence.

Finishing, she pushed the tears out of her eyes and grinned with a smile that made her entire body warm. She couldn't believe he had done it…but he had. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen: it was the best surprise she'd ever had.

"What?" Mishal pressed, squinting at the parchment in Lili's hands as if willing herself to see through it. "What does it say?"

Lili wiped her cheeks, chuckling as she read. If you must know, he said, 'I heard you were worried about what to wear. Royalty deserves only the best. And after the Ball there will be no doubt: you _are_ the Queen of Slytherin."

Every girl in the room --though all Slytherins and not inclined to such things—looked between the letter and the dress with stifled sighs of longing.

Lili, still half-way between sobs and ecstatic laughter, wrung the parchment in her hands, never wanting to let it go.

* * *

"Two handfuls of dragonscales."

"Handfuls? Not precise enough."

"That's what it says."

Snape grumbled, taking the book from her, sneering at it, lips taut and white.

"You see? I _can_ read."

He tossed the book aside, disappearing into his office for a moment. When he returned he had a different volume, this one much thicker.

Lili took it and hefted it onto the desk beside her, flipping through the pages in silence.

"Hurry, if we don't add it in the next few minutes—"

"I'm looking as fast as I can."

Snape had been in a foul mood all night. The Ministry had not only ordered more of the normal grade potions they had been preparing, but were now asking for some of the most complex concoctions Lili had ever heard of.

"Alleviolixir. Uh…oh, 4 grams of dragonscales."

He measured them out quickly, dashing them into the potion with a precision Lili found odd.

"Next."

"Let sit for seven and a half minutes, stirring anti-clockwise."

Snape sighed, removing his gloves and handing her the large, metal spoon. "I'll let you do that. I'm going to try and find another jar of fairywing. This one seems to be quite past its prime." He disappeared into his office, this time for a while.

To her surprise, he had asked her no questions about the disturbance in the Great Hall. He hadn't even chided her for being late. In the end, much to her own exasperation, she had been forced to tell him herself, feeling as if she might explode from the excitement otherwise.

His reply had been, "How much essence of morning glory again?"

The potion was turning a brilliant blue. "Pro-professor Snape?"

No answer.

"Professor, I think the potion's ready for the next addition. We need the fairywing."

Snape emerged from his office, looking positively murderous.

"What?" She hoped it wasn't something she had done.

"That damned Potter." He was shaking with anger. "He and Weasley have been up to something the entire term. Probably trying to make Love Potions or something equally ridiculous. This is the second time they've managed to pinch my fairywing. I don't think I've any left, and now this whole damn potion is ruined."

Inwardly, she giggled at the idea of Potter and Weasley bent over a cauldron trying to find a way to spice up their love lives. Outwardly, however, she was sure to look somber. "Well, we could try—hmm….do you have any dragon livers?"

Snape eyed her, sharp. "Yes."

"Where?"

"Third cabinet on that wall." He gestured to the other side of the dungeon.

She hurried across the room, prying open the jars and removing two jiggling, slimy masses. Without affording Snape a look, she ran back to the cauldron and, leaning down, held the livers over the fire. Even with the thick gloves, her hands burned.

"What are you doing?" Gruff, but not without curiosity.

She didn't answer. She hurried back across the room to a nearby sink and covered the now dry livers with several drops of cold water, stretching them until they were thin and stiff.

She held them out in a look of triumph. "There you are. Just tear them into strips as needed. They have almost the same properties as fairywing now, except that the potion might be a tad foul-tasting." She sighed. "But if anyone complains, we can tell them to take it up with Harry Potter and his Insatiable Libido."

Only one corner of Snape's mouth turned up, whether from distaste or amusement, she couldn't tell. He tore the livers and dropped them in. The cauldron hissed horribly, smoked, and finally, revealed a full vat of transparent blue liquid.

Lili smiled. It was perfect.

Snape was expressionless, watching the potion carefully. Lili wondered if he felt affronted by not knowing something.

"Ancient Chinese secret?" he asked at some length.

She sighed. At least he wasn't upset. "Not really. Just something my Potions Mistress at Zhong Mo Xue taught me. She was very well-versed in substitution possibilities and ingredient properties."

"Interesting."

A thin white skin was forming on the potion's top. "It's ready for skimming. I'll get the vials."

"Have you ever skimmed a potion before?" he asked her, pulling a long, thin piece of wood from the cabinets behind them.

She shook her head. Only the most complex and rarest potions came from skimming. Usually one spent hours preparing the ingredients, hours mixing the potion, and all for one thin layer of skin to fill just a single vial. And, though she had watched Mistress Yang do it on countless occasions, Lili herself had always imagined herself far too unskilled.

"Well then, here, take the excorior," he said, handing her the instrument. "You simply scrape the top layer, as if it was icing on a cake."

She laid the excorior on the white skin of the potion, scraping, trying to keep her hands as steady as possible despite Snape's critical gaze.

"Be careful." A low silk from somewhere over her shoulder. "If you skim too far, you'll puncture into the potion below and the skin becomes useless." He was leaning close to her as if guiding her arm with his eyes.

After several minutes, and a great deal of tense guts and beads of sweat, she let the white film drip off the excorior and into the vial.

Snape wilted into a chair, wiping his brow, face shadowed and tired.

Lili understood the feeling. Even after all the excitement of the evening, she was beginning to wither. "That was by far the most complicated potion I've ever made."

Snape considered this with a wan sneer. "I have no doubt. The Alleviolixir is difficult the first few times especially. But at least it will do some good. It can't completely alleviate the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, but it's better than nothing."

Lili was overcome with the feeling he was speaking from experience.

"But, you should get used to making it," he sighed, running his hands through his hair which, normally greasy, was now doubly so due to sweat. "The Ministry has ordered forty vials."

"Forty!" She gasped, feeling as though she was ready to give up then and there. "But it took us four hours to make _two_!"

He sniffed, shaking his head in agreement. "Yes, well, let's just say the Ministry doesn't care much about _how_ things get done. They just make sure everything runs on their timetable."

"Well, I suppose it will be good practice." But her heart wasn't in it. Sighing, she slouched against a table, her hair limp around her face, wet from the stinking cauldron steam.

She could see Snape eyeing her between sodden curls. It was the first time he had looked at her in that way for quite some time, and she wondered if, for some reason, he was thinking of Harry Potter's mother.

"Well, Miss Lee, I'll expect you back tomorrow for more of the same." He seemed too tired even to sigh. "And, since it is well past midnight, I'll excuse your homework for tomorrow."

"No need, I've already written it. Did it a couple of days ago." She pushed several sagging curls from her eyes.

"Very well."

She pushed at her cheeks, attempting a smile, but was overcome with fatigue in every part of her body. "Good night, professor."

"One more thing, Miss Lee."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you familiar with _The Iliad_, Miss Lee? The story of the Trojan Horse?" His tone was serious, though she couldn't figure out what in the world was so serious about the question.

"Uh, no sir. I'm afraid I don't know much at all about Muggle stories."

His eyes turned back to her with a calculated slowness. There was something there in the dark tunnels of his gaze: it was nothing she had seen before. It was a pain that gave her the sudden urge to end this line of discussion.

She, however, knew it was best to listen now. When he spoke of anything but potions, it was always quite serious.

"Think about that dress, Miss Lee, think about it carefully." The words sunk heavy as shadows from his lips, deliberate and low. "Think where it came from, who paid for it—and _why_."

If she hadn't been so tired, she would have furled her brow. "What about the dress? I'm sure Mister Malfoy paid for it. Draco wanted me to look nice, that's all. What—" She paused. He wouldn't be telling her this for no reason. "What are you saying?"

"Beware of Slytherins bearing gifts, Miss Lee," he sighed, gliding past her, face once again composed and unpleasant. "That is all."

"Goodnight, Professor Snape."

His voice fell from him now. "Goodnight, Miss Lee."


	8. Ball and Brawl

**Chapter Eight: Ball and Brawl**

Though Lili had always been impressed by the Great Hall, she found her breath actually stopped in her throat as they entered, her arm light and awkward through Draco's. Sparkling silver frost dripped down every wall. Hundreds of garlands zigzagged between the ceiling's twinkling stars, drenched in the bright but soft candlelight that flickered everywhere like liquid gold. The normal house tables had been replaced by many smaller ones, all draped in rich velvet cloths with mistletoe centerpieces. As she entered, flurries sifted down from the ceiling, tiny diamonds on the sleek silver of her dress.

"Wow," was all Dia could offer from beside her. Seamus was waiting across the room, already waving her over with his wide eyes. Millicent growled audibly as Dia went over to him, jaw set and looking more vicious than ever trussed up in periwinkle dress robes.

Lili met several glances, most of them cold. Her dress was twinkling wildly under the candlelight, iridescent rainbows bouncing around her like firecrackers.

She pressed her lips together, tight, probing her damp lipstick lightly with her tongue. She was clearly getting attention. Her dress had, for the last two days, been the subject of many conversations, the majority of which she was glad not to have heard. Mishal had warned her that a couple of Gryffindor girls were planning to feign an accident and spill their drinks on the gown that very night. The conspiracy had, as far as she could tell now, wilted into merely shooting her a few bitter sneers.

Draco, however, was basking in the celebrity. From the grin now overpowering his other features, she knew that he found nothing uncomfortable in the attention: he met every cool stare with a smirk.

She caught herself fiddling with her sleeve-ends. _If only to have such aplomb…_

Draco was turned, speaking to Crabbe and Goyle in slow, four-year-old tones. Lili sat down in a corner, wondering if people would stop looking at her long enough to let her look back. From a few sweeping glances, she caught sight of Dia and Seamus stealing into a far and shadowed corner along the opposite wall, leaning in towards each other, only their faces visible by candlelight. Most couples were dancing, including Harry Potter and his date, Ginny Weasley. They were actually rather clumsy, clomping around the dance floor, Potter looking as though it took every fiber of his being not to trod on her feet. Daniel and Pansy were making quite a display of the sort of romantic gymnastics that any couple but them would have had the decency to save for a more private setting. It wasn't until Dumbledore passed them with a heavy cough, that the two extricated themselves from one another and decided to give the dance floor a whirl.

Draco left to get their drinks. Lili found her eyes on the table, watching as several delicate flurries landed on the wood and dissolved into fading droplets.

"Miss Lee."

Her gaze shot up, heart attempting to leap out her mouth.

Snape stood over her, looking down his hooked nose, dark hair dotted white with snow.

"Professor." She stood, though she wasn't sure why. "I—I didn't expect to see you here."

"And why is that, Miss Lee?"

"Well, you— " She squirmed. _Could she put this in a way that wouldn't seem-- rude?_ "I just thought, perhaps, you're not really—"

He arched an eyebrow. "I'm not the type for a ball, is that it, Miss Lee?"

"No, it's not that, it's just--well, um, yes, actually. I never took you for the social type."

"And you would be right. Dumbledore requested my presence here this evening. Chaperoning."

She bit her bottom lip, hard. He was standing rigid across from her, examining her with a cool distance she found disquieting. "Um, would you like to--sit?"

She winced as soon as she said it. Of course he wouldn't. Why would he want to sit down with her, in the middle of this ball, with everyone around them, and, with her, a student? _Stupid, stupid_.

"No thank you, Miss Lee," he said, watching her with a surprised but obvious distaste. "I believe that is Mister Malfoy's seat. I merely wished to tell you that your dress is as opulent as all accounts of it. Mister Malfoy seems to have found the perfect fit."

"Yes, um, thank you. You look—nice too."

It was a lie. He was wearing what he always wore: black and black. The only difference being that these particular black robes were of a thicker material and a different cut, causing them to billow off his gaunt body in a more formal and stately manner. He obviously hadn't bothered to wash his hair. Lili wondered if there was _anything_ for which he'd be willing to wash it. The candlelight was not kind to him, causing his eyes to appear sunken and sharp over his washed-out cheeks.

The compliment had caught him off guard. He seemed, for a split second, embarrassed.

It wasn't an overwhelming transformation: a twitching at the corners of his mouth, a dilation of dark eyes, and a hasty withdrawal from his taut stance. He stretched out his fingers, thinking of touching the table, but withdrew them quickly. "Miss Lee, we are Slytherins: such empty flattery does not become us." It wasn't nearly as scathing as he would have liked. He had turned his eyes outward.

She joined him in looking away. "Professor?"

"Yes." It was a warning not to say anything else that might embarrass him.

"I was thinking about those Alleviolixirs still on order. Since there aren't any classes or anything, we could probably get some made later tonight. I'm pretty sure I'm ready to make them on my own now, and if we work about as fast as normal, we should be able to get, I dunno, ten or twelve done pulling through all night."

His face didn't turn back. "I think I can afford to give you the night off, Miss Lee."

"No, it's alright. I mean, this can't last more than three hours or so. I could be down there by eleven or twelve." She watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. "Actually I think it'd be a nice way to relax. I—I don't think I'm really too comfortable being out here on display in front of all these people either."

It was a risky thing to say something personal in front of Snape: quite often, he would merely mock her, rewarding her with some sarcastic remark and moving on as if she had said something of no importance whatsoever.

This time, however, he did not. "I will be making potions this evening. You have your hall pass."

He remained turned away and his silence suddenly made her very uncomfortable. Her lips parted as if to speak several times, but she could find nothing to say.

"Lili!"

Draco returned, two silver goblets tinkling in his hands. He looked up at Snape with an odd mixture of casual recognition and Slytherin camaraderie. "Oh, hello, Professor."

"Mister Malfoy. I was just complimenting your date on her attire. Your father has impeccable taste--as always."

Malfoy simpered so broadly Lili thought his face my crack along the seam. He chose not to acknowledge the comment, a back-handed tactic she'd noticed quite common in Slytherin. "Lili, would you like to dance? I'm sure we could wipe the floor with Potter and the Weasley twerp." It was a winning smile, as he offered her his arm.

She was careful not let her eyes flicker back to Snape as she took Draco's arm, awkward but attempting grace. "That sounds wonderful." She set her goblet down and watched as tiny flakes skated along the yellow skim of the cider within.

"I'll see you later, Professor."

But Snape was already lost in a flurry of dress robes, making for the opposite side of the Hall.

She and Draco danced for almost an hour. Lili did well considering the only practice she'd had was with her father as a girl. Draco was surprisingly gifted, leading her across the floor with a grace and an ease that seemed, for him, at once appropriate and incongruous. They chuckled about many things: the couples around them, Daniel and Pansy's mysterious disappearance after only thirty minutes, and, of course, Hagrid's poor attempt at a dance with Professor McGonagall. "I'd be surprised if she doesn't end up on the bottom of the big lout's boot," Draco snorted, whirling Lili so quickly that her dress blossomed and contracted in a burst of sparkles. "If only I could get him to dance with Vector, I wouldn't have to worry about that homework over the break…"

By the time Dumbledore called for quiet in the hall, Lili and Draco had retired to a table, drinking lazily. The Headmaster raised his glass to all the seventh year students, especially this year's Head Boy and Girl, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. The two Slytherins listened, impatient, as he extolled their virtues. Lili busied herself searching the many tables for Professor Snape. He had already left.

"And so, may you all—even in these times—remember that joy is what we're fighting for and so, accordingly we ought to enjoy a perfectly lovely holiday filled with presents and sweets and of course a good many pairs of warm, woolen socks!" The Headmaster beamed, taking a long drawl from his goblet and staring out with twinkling eyes.

Both she and Draco raised their glasses only slightly and without much attention. The apple cider poured warm down her throat.

There were a few moments of awkward silence before Malfoy sighed elaborately, stretching. "Well, it looks as though Dia and that Seamus stooge are leaving," he observed, gesturing towards the Great Hall's doors.

Sure enough, the two of them were tiptoeing out of the Hall, looking nervous. Lili returned Draco's sigh. She hoped they weren't going to get themselves in trouble.

"I had a nice evening. You're not a bad dancer."

"Nothing like you. You do it with such ease," Lili said, running her fingers around the edge of her goblet, trying to avoid his eyes.

"Father has tons of functions at the Manor. I had no choice but to learn."

She smiled, trying not to show just how tired she was feeling. It must have been around midnight by now. She was beginning to kick herself for promising Snape to drop by and help…

Snow began to fall in large, delicate flakes from the ceiling and several of the castle's ghosts flew out of the walls, weaving in and out of one another in an elaborate display. Lili was barely able to suppress a groan.

"I think the synchronized flying is my cue to go." She stood, brushing the light pepper of snowflakes from her gown.

"Stay a bit longer. There aren't any classes-- live a little. People will start calling you Hermione if you don't unwind every once and a while."

She smiled. There was something sincere behind the insult—at least it seemed there was. But she was too tired to endure more grandeur. Somehow, at that moment, nothing sounded better than being bathed in the steam of a softly simmering cauldron, alone—or, close enough to alone. "We'll see who thinks they can get away with calling me 'Hermione'. Besides, I promised Professor Snape I'd help him make a few more potions before tomorrow." She attempted not to blush as she said the next bit. "But I did have a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for everything: the dancing, the dress robes. I don't know how to thank you."

This seemed to please him enough, and he waved one hand, nodding. "No need to thank me. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning, yes?"

"I'll be ready."

Her legs almost gave out several times taking the stairs down to the dungeons. Too much dancing, she decided. And taut nerves. And perhaps too many stairs…

Her mind was already in the dungeons, sitting over her cauldron, watching the soothing bubbles of blue, smelling the thick scent of fairywing and venus root. She hoped Snape had left the door unlocked so she could slip in and get to work with little or no interruption.

She passed the familiar statue of Weltrag the Wealthy, whose particularly crooked smile had always reminded her vaguely of Draco. It was normally her best landmark for finding the staircase leading to the dungeons. Passing it this time, however, she caught a wisp of gown on Weltrag's pointed shoes, and, bending over to extricate herself, she saw a hair-thin line of torchlight just behind Weltrag's shoulder.

Stepping close and quiet, she tried to peak through the tiny crack where, she knew at once, someone must be hiding.

_Mmmf._

She pushed her ear up to the goblin's shoulders.

_It's not a big deal—_

_No, I know, I just, I don't want to, that's all.._

Lili stopped her breath behind her teeth. The second voice had been Dia's. The first Seamus'.

_I don't understand, Dia. We've been seeing each other for so long. Come on, please. Just kiss me. I won't do anything you don't want, I promise…._

Lili's heart was beating. She shouldn't be hearing this…

_No, I don't think so, Seamus. I think I'm getting tired. I'd like to go back to my common room._

_Come on._

There was a muffled thud. She tried to quiet her breath to hear more. Was he keeping her there? She found it difficult to make out anything over the thundering of her heart.

_Seamus, don't. I mean it._

There was no reply, just light shufflings.

_The Ball's getting out soon, someone will hear you…_

Again no response. Dia's voice shook more and more.

_Stop, Seamus_—Her voice grew muffled.

Lili's hand moved instinctively to her wand. She raked her hands and eyes over the statue, trying to figure out how exactly they'd gotten to the passageway behind it. She could find no entrance, and Dia's stifled voice had altogether disappeared.

She aimed her wand at the statue and blasted it in two.

"Dia?"

The sound of scurrying feet.

"Lili!"

She held her wand out further but could make out only Dia's figure, trembling against the wall. "Dia, are you okay? Where's Finnigan?"

"He—he ran when he heard the statue explode. I think he's headed for the other end." Lili could hear the sobs jostling in her throat.

"Look, Dia. You're alright. --Now tell me, where does this passage come out?"

"He had his mouth and his tongue and his hands—"

"Look at me, Dia," Lili pressed, squeezing the girl's bony shoulders. "It's okay. I'll take care of it. Just tell me where this passage comes out."

She swallowed, still not looking up. "Near the Gryffindor common room. Across from the Fat Lady's painting, behind a tapestry."

"Can you make it to the common room?"

"Yes-- I can."

She offered Dia another squeeze and as warm a smile as she could manage with her blood so full of heat. "Alright, tell Artibius to go get Malfoy and to meet me at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hui and Mishal will take care of you. Everyone will be out of the Ball soon. Trust me."

Staying only long enough to see Dia disappear in the direction of the common room, she jumped out from behind the statue and sailed down stairs, through corridors and past paintings, forgetting momentarily her earlier fatigue. Her hot skin sweat, her teeth clenched. The hand about her wand tightened to white.

By the time she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was unsure if Finnigan had already made it into the common room or if the passageway was just circuitious enough...

She waited, crouched behind a suit of armor, until several seconds later, Seamus' thin figure popped out, making a dash for the portrait hole.

"Petrificus totalus!"

The dashing boy fell forward with all his weight, stiff. His eyes were wide and dilated, darting madly as they tried to find the assailant's form.

She stood over him a moment, relishing the look of wide black circles quivering in white. She aimed her wand straight at his face and, whispering, levitated him from ground until he was standing straight. She grabbed his neck, forcing him against the wall.

The Fat Lady, awoken from her slumber, let out quite a scream. Seamus could make no noise at all.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Mmmm-mm-mff--" he replied.

She could feel herself shaking all over, Dia's pale, expressionless face still grey in her mind's eye. "You think you're some mighty Gryffindor who can impose himself wherever you like, hmm? Go and slum a bit with a Slytherin like Godric's bloody stud?"

A desperate squeak.

"What you fail to realize, is that Slytherin has friends. Friends who won't see her disrespected …"

Seamus' eyes were filling with tears, and his face blanched. Part of her was screaming, in a rage, thinking up any number of curses to reel off. But deeper down--

_No, he deserves this. It's for Dia_.

Her hand gripped his thin neck more tightly. "You're going to pay for what you did to Dia, I swear by Circe." She dug her wand into his side, hard. "You and all your other high-and-mighty Gryff friends would do well to remember: anyone stupid enough to disrespect a Slytherin like that will pay the price, do you understand?"

He was too wide-eyed and ash-faced to respond.

She shoved the wand tighter against him, whispering a soft curse. He shuddered in pain.

"Do you understand?"

Seamus had stopped kicking his feet or struggling in any way. He nodded.

It was only now that she realized someone was behind her. She turned, letting Seamus slide to the floor in an eruption of coughs and gasps.

Malfoy stood, watching her through steel eyes. He pointed forward to Seamus trying to stand.

She held out her hand, shaking from a frenzy of nerves and impulses. Seamus found himself hovering slowly off the ground again as he tried to run. She concentrated hard, breathing deep and hot.

He rose higher and higher until finally his body was above even the top of the Fat Lady's frame.

It took every fiber of Lili's being to keep him in the air. She wasn't exactly sure why she was doing it, but it was clearly terrifying Seamus who, having regained full use of his limbs, was thrashing about in mid-air, begging her to let him go, apologizing for what he had tried to do. "I—I didn't mean it—oh, please let me down—I didn't mean to hurt her—"

A flash through her veins. "Didn't mean to hurt her? Didn't mean to hurt her?" She pulled back her hand, letting him fall about nine or ten feet to the hard floor. He let out a howl of pain, but clearly wasn't hurt.

It was only now that Malfoy and his two henchmen emerged from the shadows, circling Seamus, Slytherin vultures. Artibius fluttered down and nipped lightly on Lili's ear.

"What do we have here?" Malfoy sneered, stopping as Crabbe and Goyle continued their circuits. "Gryffindor trash who thinks himself good enough to even touch Dia Morrighan." He kicked at Seamus who was trying, again, to stand. "You're too dirty to even say that name, Mudblood." He spat. "I would think in times like these your kind would know better than to attempt such unions. People are watching, and there will soon be consequences for trash like you…."

Seamus finally managed to push himself up, slouching towards the portrait hole. Malfoy stepped even closer, blocking his way, the two boys now toe to toe, eye to eye. "What I mean to say is…if you ever think about coming near Dia again…you'll have more than Slytherin house to contend with. I promise."

It was a thick threat, and one that made even Lili squirm. She wasn't sure she understood the intimation, but, if she did—if he meant—

She took that moment to remember something Harry Potter had told her. Malfoy's father had been a Death Eater…

But surely he couldn't mean…

Serious or not, it was enough to cause Seamus to flash them both a look of extreme disgust before scurrying through the Fat Lady's distressed portrait.

_Mudblood_. It was a term Lili heard whispered in every corner of Slytherin. It wasn't one she preferred to use. Blood didn't interest her: as far as she was concerned plenty of people were bad enough without having to look any deeper than personality. Especially Finnigan.

Malfoy turned to her, something guarded but unmistakably wild in his face. "Doesn't look like you needed much help. You scared the living daylights out of him."

She nodded. It had felt good for a while, but now her stomach was turning, wrenching. "If I didn't, that surely did. You…you weren't serious, were you?"

"Why shouldn't I be? People like Finnigan disgust me."

The air clotted. He turned to look at her, and she stared back, his pale skin drenched in the shadows. He was watching her as if, somehow, she could understand this feeling: as if, somehow, the words she had said meant the same thing as his.

"I should get back and see about Dia."

It was the second time in her life she had felt this—this hot shiver of guilt. The first had been seeing Hermione Granger breathless on the stone floor.

_No_, she reassured herself. This was different. Finnigan deserved everything he got. And more.

Crabbe and Goyle's dim eyes felt very heavy on her shoulders. They were looking at her with a respect usually only reserved for Malfoy.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Draco."

"Tell Dia I'm sorry she had to deal with that."

"Yes, I will. I'll be sure she reports him too. Should give McGonagall something to go on about."

He looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to understand a particularly perplexing Arithmancy equation. "You can't really be that naïve, can you?"

"What?"

"Nothing," he sighed, turning back to the Fat Lady with clicking, hollow steps. "Perhaps she should report it—worth a try. But what McGonagall won't do, we can."

She nodded.

_And who was "we"?_

She pulled a grin to cover the thought. "G'night Draco."

She was shaking, hot to the bone. Every word she had said now came shooting back at her, accusing, with the harsh sting of a ricocheting curse. She wasn't sure where the guilt was coming from. He tried to take advantage of Dia, her best friend: why should she feel anything but joy to see him cower in fear? She had meant everything she'd said: she would be sure he paid, one way or another. But, somehow, it wasn't the same as what Draco had said. They sounded the, but, somehow, his words stuck in her gut, a splinter of threats and pedigree. For a split second she had felt as though she was standing somewhere else: a different world, a different time—as though she had been watching Seamus, hunched on the floor, through the dark of a mask and a hood...

She shuddered and deliberately sped up. A foolish thought. She was a Slytherin: she of all people should know that Slytherin didn't have to mean…

But she didn't even want to think it.

Half-way down the corridor, she turned back to see Draco still standing straight, silhouetted in the torchlight, staring up at the Fat Lady with a flat, defiant smile.

* * *

"No, Lili: I won't."

She had shaken her head, vehement.

Lili begged her for at least an hour, but Dia had still refused to report Seamus to anyone.

"Why won't you tell Professor McGonagall?" Lili had handed her another tissue. "I can understand that it's embarrassing, but McGonagall's, well, sort of a woman. And besides, Seamus is in her house."

Dia's face was ghostly pale—even more than normal. She had pulled the covers up to her chin and turned away everyone but Lili. "And what will McGonagall say? 'What were you two doing sneaking around the castle by yourselves anyway?' Come on, Lili. Who would believe me? Seamus is a Gryffindor, a Quidditch player—one of the highest in our class. And you think McGongall would listen to me, a Slytherin--nobody."

Her face, though pale as death, was covered with a shadow dark enough to make Lili swallow hard. Suddenly she understood what Draco meant about being naïve.

"The Gryffindors could get away with murder—just look at Harry Potter and crew," she snapped, wiping at her eyes. "They do nothing but break rules, and when Draco reports them, it's usually him that ends up in detention somehow…"

"Alright, then. Tell Snape. If anyone will stand up for a Slytherin, it's Snape."

"You think I want to tell Snape about this!" It was almost a shriek. "No, no. Not for all the Galleons in Gringotts. I feel bad enough without—just think of what he'd say, Lili. The man doesn't care about anything…"

Lili had been struck by the urge to defend him: again, she wasn't sure why. It was certainly true; she had trouble mustering enough courage to ask him for another jar of fairywing, let alone telling him anything so personal. But still, some part of her had to believe that he would understand--that he would make things right.

"I'll tell him then, Dia. He'll listen to me. You won't have to come near him."

She still refused. She thanked Lili for standing up for her and then, with a sniffle, turned away, pulling the sheets over her head.

So Lili had changed from her heavy gown and trudged down to the dungeons, cold and weak, losing herself in the deep black hollow of the cauldron. She added a touch more scarab beetle.

"Miss Lee? Is something bothering you?"

She didn't look up at him, nor did he stop stirring or glancing at his book. "What?"

He cleared his throat, sitting back and watching the blue liquid to bubble and froth. "You seem to have something on your mind."

She had to clench her teeth a moment to keep the entire story about Dia from jumping out her mouth. "No, it's nothing really."

"I see."

He pulled an excorior from the table beside him and began skimming his potion carefully. His hair was damp with steam, and he pushed it loosely from his face.

They worked for hours in silence, both competing in an unspoken battle of wills. Their arms drooped and their legs seemed weak, but neither gave any hint of stopping. Lili wondered if he was afraid, as she was, of going to bed, of being stuck with nothing but his own thoughts…

Finally, around three-thirty in the morning, Snape, having scraped the thin layer of white Alleviolixir into an empty vial, wilted into a nearby chair.

She lifted her head, which seemed forty pounds heavier than a mere hour before.

"I think we'd better call it a night, Miss Lee," he sighed, wiping the steam and sweat from his face. His lips were parched-white even in the shadow of his nose. "I'm sure we can finish the order tomorrow night, thanks to your diligence this evening."

She blinked. "Oh—um, I'm sorry. You didn't know. I'm not going to be here tomorrow."

It was his turn to raise his head. "What?"

"I—That is, Malfoy's family has invited me to stay with them for the rest of the Christmas holidays."

It was an odd look that met her as she said this. Snape's eyes, which had been so dim, flashed with life, his limp muscles suddenly stiffening. "Malfoy Manor?"

"Erm, yes." He was staring straight into her. "I—I thought it was a kind gesture. You know, since my Dad…"

Snape stood and swept across the room, stopping at a counter where he went about arranging and rearranging bottles of scarab beetles. "Miss Lee—" But he too fell off. The bottles clinked together several moments before he seemed able to speak again. "Well, I suppose, then, I shall have to give you your Christmas present now."

Her stomach flipped like a pancake.

As Snape disappeared into his office, she tried to wipe the shock from her face, fiddling with her sleeve ends again. A gift? Why in the hell would he have gotten her a gift? She hadn't gotten him anything—would he expect something? She realized coolly that she wouldn't have the first clue what he'd want…

He emerged once again, a box wrapped in silver and green in his hand. He extended it towards her.

She took it from his thin fingers as lightly as she could. The tag atop, scrawled in neat, green ink, read, "From Professor S. Snape to his pupil and the 'Queen of Slytherin,' Miss Elizabeth Lee." She felt a searing blush erupt across her cheeks. She hadn't thought he knew her popular epithet…

"I'm not in the habit of giving many gifts," he said, shifting between his feet. "So don't expect anything spectacular. I merely thought that you have made yourself helpful and perhaps--Open it."

As keen to avoid his eyes as he was hers, she set to pulling the wrapping carefully, trying to steady her hands. She peeled back the paper to reveal a simple cardboard box. She opened it slowly.

Inside, under several sheets of tissue paper, were two books.

_Of course, books_. What else would he have gotten her? What else mattered to him?

She pulled them out, setting the box on a table behind her. "_Complex Concoctions_ by David R. Fitzwellington." It was a thick hardback, elegant black with silver lettering. She flipped through it for several moments, glancing at a rather complicated diagram of a plant called _Andripitus forscathion_.

"I'll admit to being a bit mercenary. These are the most complex potions imaginable. The Ministry has just ordered a couple of them, and it would be beneficial if you could acquaint yourself with some of the properties and ingredients."

She closed the book with a thud, forcing a smile. "Of course. I'll have a look at it over the holidays." She turned to the next book, a thin and tattered paperback. It was obviously used and quite roughly from the looks of it. She read the title silently. _Notes from Underground_ by Fyodor Dostoevsky. The pages inside were dog-eared and heavily marked.

"Oh, that is a Muggle book. You said you didn't know much about Muggle literature, and this is just a—recommendation."

She wondered, for a moment, why, then, he'd given her this old copy. He certainly _wasn't_, she supposed, in the habit of giving people gifts. "Thank you, professor. I confess, I didn't think to get you anything."

"Miss Lee, I long ago stopped expecting gifts from anyone. But--your services here have been adequate compensation."

That was, she guessed, some Slytherin equivalent of a 'thank you.' Uncomfortable with gratitude, especially from Snape, she turned and busied herself setting the books back in the cardboard box.

He too seemed more anxious than he'd have liked and took to examining a nearby cauldron, wiping at its lip. "How—how long will you be at the Malfoys'?"

"Two weeks. Until the start of classes." She placed the lid back on the box and hefted it under her arm.

"I see."

And then— "Professor—the Malfoys—they were—Death Eaters?"

Snape seemed shrink under his skin. His eyes turned up, dark. "What?"

"Draco's father was—a Death Eater. He was in Azkaban, is that right? But he was acquitted --twice-. And tonight, Draco—he said something—it made me wonder." The air of the dungeon was frozen, warm steam all shriveled into quiet. As she spoke, puffs of white air formed and dissolved from her mouth.

And then, quite unexpectedly, Snape stepped towards her. She felt the overwhelming urge to recoil, her body shivering, but she kept her eyes straight on his, held.

"Miss Lee." His voice was soft, a tone that made her heart race even faster. "The Malfoys are a—powerful family. Mister Malfoy was acquitted of the Death Eater charge when he was younger and again just two years ago. He was, he said--and everyone at the Ministry eventually agreed—under the Imperius Curse."

_But do you agree?_ She couldn't force her cold lips apart.

"Just keep your eyes open, that's all. You'll see all you need to answer that question." She felt as if his eyes were burning into her skin.

For the second time that evening, she was both shivering and sweating, bones hot, skin pricked with goose pimples.

"As for Draco, I think—I think you will be good for him." He looked away now, straightening the left sleeve of his cloak with great care. "Who knows what he is."

Her knees objected with a wobble, and her skin was flushing from the manic hot-and-cold of it all. She wanted nothing more than to get away. To bed, if not to sleep.

"Th-thank you for the books, Professor. I'll have a look at some of these potions and be ready for work when I get back."

He nodded, returning to his scarab beetles with a brusque expression. It was his way of telling her that the conversation was over, and that she was not to act as if anything particular had just been said.

She opened her mouth to say something more but changed her mind. Her fingers fumbled for the door handle, cold and metal.

"Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Miss Lee."


	9. On Malfoy Manor

**_Chapter Nine_****: On Malfoy Manor**

The car bounced and jostled just enough to keep her from falling asleep. She'd spent the rest of the previous night without even a wink of sleep, trying to pack between thoughts of Snape and the Malfoys. The fatigue was pressing heavily on her now, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.

The car, sleek black and longer than any she'd ever seen, had been waiting for them at King's Cross. The driver, a man with small and lifeless eyes, had ushered them to it, packing their luggage away like an automaton. They had been driving for almost an hour, most of which passed in silence. Through half-closed eyes, Lili noticed that, the closer they got to Malfoy Manor, the further Draco's lips sank, his face going even paler than normal. He was fidgeting with the door handle, eyes locked on the scenery rushing past.

They were deep in the country now, passing by hills that she guessed would have been quite green had it not been for the season. As it was white snow stretched out to the darkening horizon, dotted only with the occasional black of distant homes.

One particular speck was growing ever closer. It sat atop one of the tallest hills, and, slowly, as the car snaked its way nearer, the house seemed to expand—to dominate the bleached landscape. When the car finally slid to a halt at its feet, Lili felt as if she were lurking in the shadow of a thoroughly gothic mountain.

She followed Draco's example and waited for the dead-eyed driver to walk around and open her door. Her feet crunched into the snow, and she looked straight up, trying not to think about a single word Snape had said.

The house wrapped itself around the hill's crest like a claw, dark gray against severe white. Though they were withered and dusted with snow, Lili could tell the gardens must have been breath-taking at any other time. Hedge and bush rows curled in a meticulous way, tracing outward in every direction, framing the gnarled and naked trees as black bracelets. During the spring, she imagined Malfoy Manor was virtually hidden away on this remote hill, smothered in oaks and magnolias. Now, however, it had all the stripped chill of slate bone, disinterred.

"This is it," Draco sighed, dusting at his robes. "Malfoy Manor. Four stories, four wings, a serving staff of—"

But Lili wasn't listening. She had become fascinated with the steady stream of tiny creatures that had begun scurrying out the front doors and wobbling back in, luggage in tow. She had never seen a houself, let alone so many. As they passed, each bowed and beamed at her, each squeaking their own refrain of "good day, Miss."

"Draco!" The snowflake voice floated on the winter air with perfect elegance, every vowel stretched like a well-worn glove. A tall, svelte woman glided out of the front entrance, her dress trailing through the frost as she neared them.

"Hello mum."

The woman leaned forward and pecked her son on the cheek. He returned the affection. It had all the warmth of a handshake.

"And this must be Miss Elizabeth Lee," the woman said, inclining her head though Lili was far shorter than she.

"Please, call me Lili."

"It's a pleasure to have you here in our home, Lili," the woman continued, motioning for the two of them to follow her past the steady stream of houselves and through the doors. "Draco has told my us so much about you."

Lili was careful to avoid tripping over houselves as she entered. "I'm—I'm honored to be invited," she said, too tired and overwhelmed to try and back up the words with enthusiasm.

The foyer was just as Lili had imagined it might be. The walls were a thick, black marble, topped with buttresses which Lili guessed would be of the flying variety. Above, in the domed entrance was a massive silver chandelier which, dotted with hundreds of sparkling candles, blanketed the room in warm, pale light. Everything around her seemed to shimmer and sweat with wealth, and, as she glanced over at a spot of particularly well-polished wall, she found the shadows of her own dull eyes in gleaming marble. She was looking even more tired than she felt.

The houselves finally stopped, and the last one slammed the thick oak door shut with a resounding thud. Lili jumped.

"I'se sorry, Miss," the elf apologized, looking up at Mrs. Malfoy nervously. He scampered off after the others.

"Those were a number of our houselves." Lili privately wondered at the idea that there were _more_ somewhere. "If you need anything, just grab one. They'll take care of it."

Lili nodded, doing her best to look more grateful than nervous.

The three of them looked at each other for several moments, silent and awkward.

"Um, where's Father?" Draco ventured finally, glancing about as if expecting Mister Malfoy to come springing out from the shadows.

Which, of course, he did at that very moment.

Mister Malfoy, a sturdy and statuesque man wrapped in pristine gray, strode into the foyer in a way that Lili immediately associated with the term "lord of the manor." He, like his wife, seemed to glide towards them, head held so high she could barely make out his flinty eyes over the tip of his nose.

"Father."

The two men nodded at one another: not even the warmth of a handshake.

"And this must be Miss Lee," he said, bowing deeply and taking her hand to kiss it. As his lips touched her skin, she fought back a shudder that ran up her arm and wrapped itself around her spine. "It seems my son has inherited his father's excellent taste in young women."

She forced a smile and stared, determined, at anything other than Mr. Malfoy's appraising eyes.

He had pressed the smile into his face like a tight crease. "No doubt Narcissa has told you how glad we are to have you here," he continued, holding his hands behind his back. "I think it is a shame how your family has treated you. We want you to know you still have people to turn to."

"Thank you. I'm honored to be in your home."

The response seemed to please him as the crease widened, tilted. "Well, I'm sure you're tired from the day's journey." Lili wondered if he had spotted the dark rings under her eyes. "Please, allow me to show you to your room. The houselves have already carried up your things."

She was overcome with the wish that they could have carried _her_ up with her luggage. Going "up" anywhere sounded tiring enough without having to endure Mister Malfoy's stinging eyes on the way.

But she merely nodded, following him back out the shadowed doorway from which he'd entered and into yet another, larger foyer which split dramatically into two spiraling staircases, each spinning up in separate directions. They took the right.

They walked for a long while in silence, the sound of her shoes clicking uncertainly on the flagstone floors. Paintings of severe-looking older men --whom Lili took to be Malfoy ancestors-- lined the halls. Most of them were marked by the same gray eyes and pale skin that defined their current heirs. She was glad when she realized that, unlike the Hogwarts' paintings, these particular portraits did not move, merely glowering down at her from behind stern yet stationary eyes.

"You're room is just beyond this," Mister Malfoy said, turning on his heels rather abruptly. She was glad to have kept enough distance that she didn't plow into him. "It's the best guest room in the house. This is the main library." He pushed open the oak door beside them. "I thought you might enjoy being near it. It's one of the largest private collections in England."

For a moment, Lili forgot where she was and whom she was with. She entered the room in the manner a pilgrim would a shrine. Every bit of wall space was lined with bookshelves, every space on every shelf crammed full. She breathed in deeply, overwhelmed by the smell of paper and oilcloth. "It's wonderful."

"Yes. From what Draco told me about your marks, I thought you might be interested in this." He stretched a hand out, lightly resting his weight on one of the cases near the doorway. "There are some books in here that can't be found anywhere else in _world_. I hope you'll feel welcome here at any time."

Lili had turned away from him, examining some of the books to the left of the door. They were packed tightly together, making them almost impossible to extricate. She settled for merely glossing over the titles. _Anatomy of the Unicorn_ by Gladys Billsby. _The Unforgivables: A History_, no author. _Curse Classes of Western Europe_ by Edgar Halcyon. _A Brief Genealogy of English Wizarding Families_ by Alexander Malfoy, Esq. They all sounded like the sort of things a good Slytherin family would have on their shelves. "Yes, it's wonderful. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Well, you're welcome to borrow anything. There's a potions section on that wall there." He gestured loosely. "From what Draco tells me, that's your interest. Feel free to peruse. We have a number of cauldrons and ingredients available if you want to try anything, though I hope you'll consider having a bit of a holiday as well."

She actually managed a half-genuine grin in return. Making potions was the first thing Mister Malfoy had said that made her feel comfortable. As soon as she could, she'd look over the book Snape had given her and try a few things out.

Malfoy strode out the door without another word.

He opened the next door they arrived at with an even greater flourish than the previous. The gesture produced the desired effect.

The room itself was large: about half the size of the library. The walls were a deep burgundy trimmed in rich, gold-leafed flourishes and borders. The floor, covered by woven carpets seemed to sink beneath her feet with a soft, warm tingle. A fire snapped intensely in its marble cage, throwing up the smell of cinder and wood. There were several mirrors, a few paintings of the Manor's surrounding landscape, and a large, dark wood armoire on the opposite wall. The bed--a canopy which dominated the room--was drenched in shimmering curtains and sheets that matched the deep claret of the walls. At that moment, nothing in the world looked more inviting to Lili than those smooth, curving pillows and cool, silk sheets.

"I hope this will due for the next few weeks," Mister Malfoy said, tilting his grin again in the way Lili had always associated with Draco. "I daresay it's likely a bit nicer than your accommodations at Hogwarts."

"Yes, it's wonderful," she was sure to say quickly. And _that _she could say without hesitation. She had never been in any room so rich, so warm, --so inviting. She forced her eyes up to Malfoy's with a decorous grin. "Thank you very much for your hospitality. I don't know what to say." Once again, she was telling the truth. The situation gave rise to such mixed emotions, nothing seemed entirely appropriate to voice.

"Don't worry, my dear. Just enjoy yourself. We want to show you there are, without a doubt, people in this world who can appreciate you for all your talents and ambition." His lopsided grin broadened, pale eyes glinting in a way that Lili couldn't read. "We'll send someone up to announce dinner."

He gave a deep bow and closed the door gently.

Every muscle in her body unwound itself, and, for the first time since they had boarded the Hogwarts Express that morning, Lili felt the full weight of her weariness consume her.

_Just put away your heavy cloaks, then you can crawl into bed and drift away…_ She dragged her feet all the way to the armoire, peeling off her outer layers as she went.

Opening its thin mahogany doors, she was met with a surprise.

Her suitcase rested still unpacked on the bottom shelf. However, hanging from what appeared to be thick, gold hangers, were almost twenty pairs of robes, different cuts, styles, and colors, all made from the finest materials and all seemingly brand new.

Swallowing, she pulled down one hanger, turning over the collar to check. It was her size precisely.

In fact, she discovered after a bit more investigating, they were _all_ her size. Clearly, they were meant as gifts.

Dumping her cloaks on top of her case, she shut the armoire doors with a thud. _What the hell does this mean_, she asked herself, wearily, lurching her way towards the bed. She had learned in her time in Slytherin to question the meaning of every act, no matter how trivial it seemed. Were they afraid her clothes wouldn't be up to their standard? Was it merely a gesture of their "support" for her?

She couldn't suppress a yawn as she slouched down between the cool, smooth sheets. Perhaps, she thought, there was something deeper to it—something more manipulative. She couldn't help thinking back to Snape's warning about the dress. Could all these gifts really mean something…dangerous?

The warmth of the fire poured over her, the thick scent of smoldering wood filling her lungs. And, closing her eyes, she found it very difficult to play at Slytherin mind games for very long.

The sleep was hard, heavy and dreamless.

* * *

It took several nibbles before Artibius managed to wake her.

Blinking and tingling with the relief of a good nap, it took Lili a moment to remember where she was. Artibius was perched on her chest, gnawing at her ear earnestly.

"Artibius…" she yawned, sitting up with a wide stretch.

The large bat clicked several times, nudging at something with his horned nose.

She looked down. He had carried the bag full of_ suan mei_ to the bed and was now pointing it out suggestively.

"You twerp," she sighed, pulling one out but holding it firmly away from him. "What makes you think you deserve this?"

He gave a short squeal and snatched it from between her fingers.

"Oh, bugger," she snapped as he flew up to the ceiling where he could nibble the treat without fear of retribution.

She scowled but chuckled nonetheless, glad to have brought him along. She had left Hui at the dormitory with Dia, but Artibius had refused to stay. He had spent that morning's trip wrapped in cloaks, snoozing away.

Lili took her time getting out of bed. Judging from the dark sky outside the window beside her, she had managed several hours of sleep. Her stomach confirmed this fact with a shake and a growl. Luckily, this meant dinner should also be ready soon.

She decided to change robes, pulling on some rather attractive woolen ones from the armoire. It would be a polite gesture to show her appreciation for the Malfoys' gifts—whatever motivation lurked in the background.

She was turned towards the long mirror beside the armoire, straightening her rather obstinate hair, when a soft knock came at the door.

"Come in."

A tiny, pillowcase-clad houself came tottering in, doe-eyes turned up reverently. "Miss, I is sent to tell you that dinner is being served. You is requested in the main dining hall."

She couldn't help but smile. The houself's tiny lips were pressing and flapping deliberately, as if the sentences had been carefully rehearsed before she entered. "Alright. Could you show me where that might be?"

The elf nodded emphatically, scurrying out the door. Lili hurried to follow. "Artibius," she called up to the ceiling as she left, "stay here. I'll be back just after dinner."

The bat let out a shrill squawk, unhappy to be excluded from any event involving food.

The elf led her down the hall she had seen earlier with Mister Malfoy, but this time they took a different staircase, finding their way into a grand corridor flanked with smooth porcelain urns, busts on marble pedestals, and hundreds of torches sparking through gold grates. A red carpet crawled down the long passage, a tongue rolling from the very distant mouth of the dining hall.

"Miss is looking very pretty in her new robes. Master is having these specially made for Miss."

"Thank you," Lili answered, not enjoying the reminder. "Mister Malfoy certainly did go out of his way to make me feel welcome."

At this, the tiny houself resumed her loose-necked nodding. "Oh yes. Geeti is proud to serve such a generous Master. Geeti thinks Master is always good to his guests."

"Uh…Geeti? Is that your name?"

The tiny elf nodded.

"Well, Geeti, tell me: is Mister Malfoy good to _you_?"

The elf turned her eyes up to Lili, mouth gaping. "How can Miss ask this question?" she gasped. "Of course Master is good to Geeti. Master is good to all elves who is doing their jobs and knowing their place. Geeti is loving serving Master."

Lili wondered if this answer was true or if the elf merely suspected she might report any negative response. However, the elf's ardent affirmation did give Lili some hope that her anxiety about the Malfoys was somewhat misplaced.

The passage finally ended in two tall and bulky wrought iron doors, already swung open. Lili was glad of this as she wasn't sure she and tiny Geeti could have opened them alone.

"Here you is, Miss," the elf said, backing out. "Just go on in. And if you is wanting anything else to eat, just let someone know. Geeti will bring it in straight away."

"Thank you Geeti." But the houself had already scurried off, busying herself, no doubt, with the enormous preparations necessary for serving dinner.

Lili took several ginger steps into the dining room, the click of her heels on the stone floor volleying sharply back at her head from the vaulted ceilings. She drew her woolen robes closer, gooseflesh pricking up across her skin. Despite the large fireplace on the opposite side of the room, the air seemed thick with cold, parting almost palpably as she stepped through it.

The room itself was huge, as she'd expected: but it was entirely different from what she'd already seen of the manor. It was decorated sternly with tall candelabras and iron-ringed chandeliers, several coats or arm hung, imposing, above a blazing fire. It was something utterly medieval, impressive for its massive austerity rather than its richness and luxury. A long wooden table--which she imagined could seat about fifty to sixty people—dominated the room. And, at the far end to her left, she could distinguish several figures seated, vague in the dim firelight.

"Ahh, Lili!" It issued unmistakably from the white throat of Mister Malfoy. She saw the figure at the head of the table stand, motioning.

It took her several loud and clacking steps to reach the far end. Draco and his mother sat on either side of Mister Malfoy, looking up at her warmly. Beside Mrs. Malfoy, three unfamiliar faces met hers, instantly calculating.

Draco stood and pulled out the seat beside his. With a quick nod, she sat, trying to keep her face blank and her eyes steady on the empty silver plate before her.

"This," Mister Malfoy said at length, "is Lili, a guest of Draco's here for the holidays."

Lili was forced to raise her eyes, meeting the strangers' indifferent looks as firmly as she could.

"These are a few of our friends—guests here tonight. This is Walden Macnair. He works at the Ministry."

The man's face was hard, lined with age and wear. His thin lips pressed tighter in what must have been his abortive attempt at a smile. She nodded politely.

"And Jeremiah Avery. An old acquaintance from Hogwarts."

This man sat tall in his seat, drawn in what Lili found an almost comically haughty pose. His features dripped down his face, making him seem unreservedly sour. He did not choose to acknowledge her in any way other than to meet her eyes with a self-important smirk.

"And Patricia Parkinson. Another old Slytherin, eh Patricia?"

Lili didn't have to ask if this woman was related to Pansy. She had the same bony thickness to her face, the same thin wisps of brown hair, and the same sharp, black eyes. "I believe I know her daughter, Pansy."

"Yes, I've heard plenty about you, my dear," she said, her tone unreadable. "Your robes are lovely. Excellently tailored. I have some rather like them—of course not _that_ color, but…" She gave a wan smile.

Under the table, Lili balled her fists. Above the table, however, she tried to mimic the cool indifference that seemed to be in style. "Yes, thank you. They were a gift from Mister Malfoy. _I_ think it was an excellent choice of color."

This revelation seemed to startle the older woman into silence.

Mister Malfoy did not acknowledge the comments however, amusement dripping over the lip of his goblet. "Yes, you do look lovely in them, Lili. They are our Christmas gift to you, though, I'll admit, Narcissa did all the shopping—I was merely the one handing over the Galleons."

At this the two men snorted and Mrs. Parkinson giggled nasally.

Lili was trying to decide how to express her gratitude in a roundabout and altogether appropriately Slytherin way, when several houselves scampered in, bearing a large number of dishes, steaming and wafting sweet smells through the hall. Distracted by the food, everyone fell out of conversation for a long while, spooning and poking and filling their plates.

Lili found that, even in her hunger, little seemed palatable. The food all seemed very delicate and rich, and every bit made her stomach churn harder. She tried sticking mostly to the steamed potatoes and took to watching those around her eat in silence.

She turned to look at Draco. He sat beside her like a statue, shoveling his food faster than normal, eyes riveted stonily on his plate. It was clear he would not be carrying on much conversation with her until after dinner.

"Draco."

Beside her, Draco paused, as if caught. "Yes?"

"Why don't you get one of the houselves to fetch your present for Lili?" Mister Malfoy dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a thick, black napkin.

Lili couldn't believe it. Another gift? It was getting more and more uncomfortable to accept all these presents without anything to give in return.

But Draco had already turned around in his seat and motioned to one of the houselves.

"Really," Lili objected, her voice echoing so loudly in the silence that it startled her. "You've given me so much already, and I've nothing to give you in return. It's too much." Her eyes danced between Mister and Mrs. Malfoy. She was beginning to suspect the wisdom of owing a Malfoy _anything._

Lucius Malfoy's cool chuckle reverberated from the vaulted ceilings bouncing back at her, its sharpness doubled. "Please, do not insult us. We Malfoys have been given much: a few yards of cloth is nothing short of pocket change." The grin that had been sitting on his lips fell. "Besides, this gift is from Draco, not us. It was his idea." The snap in his voice told her that, though Mister Malfoy might have footed the bill, it had been after a great deal of debate.

It took two houselves to carry the long box in, and they struggled getting it over their heads and onto the table. It landed in front of her with a thud. She looked up at Draco, questioning.

"Er—Merry Christmas. Go ahead, open it."

She tore into the wrapping—a thick, green foil dressed with silver ribbons—until there was nothing left but a long, black box, blank save tiny gold lettering in one corner. It read, "Miss Elizabeth Lee" and, beneath it, "Maelstrom 260."

Immediately she knew what it was. She jiggled the lid of the box fiercely, and it fell open, revealing a slender and elegant racing broom.

"Oh, Draco" was all she could manage. Taking it in her hands, she lifted it from the box, watching the light dance off its polished cherrywood handle. It was surprisingly light.

"It's a Maelstrom," he said, wadding up the paper and handing it to a waiting houself. "The French team was using them at the World Cup this year. Granted those were 1000 models, and this is a 260, but it's a good broom. Especially for light-weight flyers or--"

She was holding it upside down, examining the bristled end while he listed the Maelstrom's many advantages over other popular models – the Clean Sweep, the Nimbus, the Firebolt. "I've got a Maelstrom 800 myself. It blows the old Nimbuses out of the water. And Potter's Firebolt, well, it's no match for taking those tight upturns."

Of course, Lili couldn't appreciate any of the nuances, but she was, nonetheless, excited to have her own broom.

"And, you know, part of this gift is those flying lessons," Draco said, clearly doing his best to ignore everyone else. "I thought since we have a long holiday, we could start practicing out on the Manor grounds. You're going to be--"

"I don't know if my son is the proper person to give you flying lessons: he hasn't exactly proven himself in any _real_ games as yet…or against any real opponents…"

Every person at the table, save the Malfoys, seemed to squirm and fidget with their silverware. Draco remained turned toward Lili but could no longer bring himself to smile.

Seeing his face sink, Lili felt a rush she had not thought possible since arriving at the Manor earlier that day. It was a rush of courage. "Actually, sir, I've seen him play several games. He's an excellent Seeker. Definitely more skill than Potter, if not as much luck." She made sure her eyes touched on Mister Malfoy's flinty gaze, if only briefly. "I'd be honored to have Draco show me the basics." Her heart was beating madly, but, seeing Draco relax slightly, she was able to steady herself enough to heft the broom back in its box and look up with a stoutness she hadn't been able to muster before.

"Well, perhaps the _basics_."

Patricia Parkinson stood, looking eager to relieve the tension. "Now, Narcissa, you were going to show me that lovely new carpet in the parlor."

"Oh—oh yes," Mrs. Malfoy said absently. "Yes, why don't we go and have a look, shall we? While the boys have their fun." She floated up from her chair, her long, thin body gently outlined in soft firelight. "Lili, would you like to come? It's a beautiful new carpet. We've imported it straight from Persia and—"

"Um, I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," she interrupted quietly, standing and taking the Maelstrom in hand. "I'm awfully tired. Draco and I were out rather late last night at the Yule Ball, and the day's journey has taken its toll. Perhaps you could show me tomorrow."

Patricia Parkinson sniffed disapprovingly, but Mrs. Malfoy merely nodded, light bouncing off her blonde hair with a wild sheen. "Yes, of course. I understand. There will be plenty of time, my dear. Geeti can show you back up to your room."

"Thank you. It's been a pleasure to meet you all." She hoped her voice had not shaken under the pressure of the lie.

Draco stood, pulling out her chair a bit farther. "Yes. And perhaps we can start those flying lessons tomorrow."

For the first time since the start of dinner, she felt the warmth of a genuine smile on her lips. "I'd love to. Just come and get me when you're ready."

The small and familiar face of Geeti had appeared beside her and was looking up, large eyes blinking eagerly. "Right this way, Miss."

Lili afforded only one more smile to Draco and then, quickly as possible, followed the houself out of the Dining Hall, wondering how she would find the strength to endure weeks more of such awkward meetings.

Perhaps, she hoped, they'll get better. Yes, she would get used to things. She was merely overreacting because of Snape. She had seen nothing so far to give her reason to feel anxious. Draco and his father had rather chilly relations, but that was not altogether uncommon, she supposed. Hell, her own father didn't even want to see her for Christmas. No, things weren't really so bad. Just awkward, as all new situations are at first. And, for a supposed Death Eater, Mister Malfoy certainly was generous.

Her eyes flickered over to Geeti who was walking amazingly quickly for someone with such short legs.

And the houself _had_ said he was a good man. What could that mean?

A yawn pushed its way out of her.

"Miss is tired. Geeti will make Miss some warm milk to help her get good sleep."

"No, you don't need to go to the trouble. I've got some books to read: should do the trick."

They had reached the guest room door, and the houself turned, looking affronted. "No, Miss-- it is no trouble. Serving Miss is no trouble to no one. Geeti is knowing what Miss is needing. I will bring it right up."

"Uh, thank you, Geeti," Lili said, not wishing to offend the poor creature any further. "I will be sure to tell Mister and Mrs. Malfoy how attentive you've been."

This seemed to cheer her up, and the houself skipped rather than scurried away.

It took her only a few seconds to slip out of her robes and into pajamas. The bed was as cool and exquisite as before, and she let herself settle back into several goose-down pillows, Snape's books propped up against her folded legs. She sipped at the warm milk Geeti brought and began flipping through the first few pages of _Complex Concoctions_, examining a diagram of unicorn parts useful as potion ingredients.

She had read almost fifty pages before she grew tired. It was difficult to read potion texts without actually being able to mix anything, to smell it or hear it or feel the thrill of everything combining just as it should. In short, it was _boring_. She put the book aside with a resolve to look it over later.

She peeled back the cover of the second book, _Notes from Underground_, wondering at its ragged state. The pages smelled much like the dungeons at Hogwarts: she was actually almost certain she could smell the lingering scent of Snape's hands on the covers, as if he had held it many long hours. Pulling it wide so that the spine of the book creaked, she began to read.

_I am a mean man…I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man._

Words rolled past her eyes, pages turned, as she examined every line closely, but most especially the ones Snape had seen fit to underline or scrawl beside.

_I'm terribly proud. I'm as mistrustful and as sensitive as a hunchback or a dwarf; but in truth, I've experienced some moments when, if someone had slapped my face, I might even have been grateful for it._

She paused. It sounded familiar; she could almost hear his voice speaking the words.

The narrator reminisced about his past: his lonliness, his timidity, his nagging inability to make any clear decisions about anything. About a blustering and well-loved character by whose name Snape had scribbled only one word: _HIM_. And, finally, about the narrator's complete inability to express his feelings to a woman named Liza. Here Snape had written something, but scratched through it heavily and deliberately. Lili couldn't help wondering.

_My life was gloomy, disordered, and solitary to the point of savagery. I didn't associate with anyone; I even avoided talking, and I retreated further and further into my corner. I was a coward and a slave. I did become friends with others; I began to visit their houses, drink vodka, talk of promotions. The devil only knows what habit can do to a person. But on the whole, I was alone._

_Cleverly and nobly, I blamed myself for everything. It was as if the skin had been stripped away from my body so that even wafts of air caused pain. _

_Every man has within his own reminiscences certain things he doesn't reveal to anyone, except, perhaps, to his friends. There are also some that he won't reveal even to his friends, only to himself perhaps, and even then, in secret. Finally, there are some which a man is afraid to reveal even to himself. _

_Love is God's mystery and should be hidden from other people's eyes, no matter what happens._

The words echoed in Lili's ears, though no one had spoken them. She was vaguely aware of a slight trembling in her hands.

_She gave me some water while looking at me like a lost soul. "Liza, do you despise me?" I asked, looking her straight in the eye, trembling with impatience to find out what she thought. She was embarrassed and didn't know what to say. But I never could have guessed she'd come to love me. "This means everything!" I whispered in a feverish haste. "You may think she's…But you've no idea who this woman really is!" _

_But even in my underground dreams I couldn't conceive of love as anything but a struggle. Real life oppressed me. I was angry at myself, but it was she who'd pay naturally._

_"Liza!" I cried more loudly. But she had gone. I felt horribly oppressed. I stood before her crushed, humiliated, abominably ashamed._

There was a brief moment in which she felt she shouldn't read any further. She was no longer reading a story. He was speaking to her, and she could see him, hear his voice, sifting the words through silk and vinegar. She swallowed hard and kept reading.

_But these are all golden dreams. Oh, the squalor, the stupidity, the narrowness of these filthy, sentimental souls! Even though the mind is working, the heart has been blackened by depravity, and without a pure heart, there can be no full, genuine love! Perhaps I've really suffered, but I don't respect my own suffering. "I am alone, and they are everyone." They won't let me…I can't be…good._

_The more conscious I was of what was good, the more deeply I sank into the morass. It was as if it all had to be so. It was as if this were my most normal condition, not an illness, so that finally I even lost the desire to struggle against it._

_I gnaw and gnaw at myself inwardly, secretly, nagging away, consuming myself until finally bitterness turns into some kind of shameful, accursed sweetness. The pleasure results precisely from the feeling that one has reached the limit; that it is disgusting, but couldn't be otherwise; you have no other choice—you can never become a different person…_

_Of course, moments later, I would realize in anger that it was all lies, lies, revolting, made-up lies, that is, all that repentance and the tenderness, all those vows to mend my ways. Just look around: rivers of blood are being spilt: and in the most cheerful way, as if it were champagne._

_Haven't you noticed that the most refined bloodshedders are almost always the most refined gentlemen?_

Lili's mind flickered briefly and almost subconsciously to Lucius Malfoy.

_I didn't understand. I am disguising my feelings with sarcasm; that is usually the last resort of people who are timid and chaste of heart, whose souls have been coarsely and impudently invaded; and who, until the last moment, refuse to yield out of pride and are afraid to express their own feelings to you._

She read the last words again. To you. It was these words that forced her to close the book. It was as if, somehow, he was…

She was shaken by the wish to never have opened the book, and tucked it beneath her pillow, uncomfortable.

Her heart was full, and the warm milk began to seize her body.

She heard Snape's voice, low. _I am disguising my feelings with sarcasm; that is usually the last resort of people who are timid and chaste of heart, whose souls have been coarsely and impudently invaded…_

She wondered vaguely who had invaded. She pictured him, at Hogwarts, bent over some simmering cauldron, oily and covered in gloom. Remembering his eyes, she fit pieces of the words into them, trying to produce some clear picture…yanjing hei, linian hei…

Why in the world had he given this thing to her? One book would have been a sufficient gift. Why this one too? She laid back, thinking.

She could imagine a certain amount of release in being able to tell someone, but she hadn't known him long—and she was a student besides. The only other explanation was he thought she _needed_ to know: if he thought she—

But her mind sighed in exhaustion and she gave into sleep, fingers wound deep in the pages that smelled of his hands.


	10. In the Room Downstairs

**_Chapter Ten:_**** In the Room Downstairs**

Lili's eyes blinked open. The room was draped in darkness save the glow of cinders in the fireplace. As she pushed herself from bed, her leg sang in pain, and she fell back into the sheets, biting hard at her lip.

In the dreariness of half-sleep, she'd forgotten about the sprain and had been startled by the foreign furniture. She sat at the edge of her bed, kneading her calf softly.

It had been going very well that morning; that is once she managed to get the broom in the air and learned to hang on, white-knuckled. After a short time, she was zooming—well, maybe not _zooming_, but flying smoothly—over the skeletal trees and bare flowerbeds that choked the manor grounds. Draco had seemed impressed, and they raced around the east wing three times. She felt he'd been holding back, but she enjoyed running neck-and-neck with him enough that she didn't complain.

Then, however, Draco suggested teaching her some tricks. On her first attempt to roll the broom, she had almost hit a stone wall. On her second, she hadn't been quite as graceful in recovering and had fallen almost twenty feet to the ground. At first, the houselves who scurried out to her rescue thought she might have broken the leg, but, as time went on, the swelling went down, and only a small area around her ankle had bulged, black and blue. In the end, the doctor Mister Malfoy called assured them it was only a sprain and nothing to worry about. It was the same ankle she had sprained at the Dueling Club earlier in the year, and she assured everyone that it was simply a weak ankle and would heal as quickly as it had before.

But the Malfoys continued fussing over her, or, rather, sending their houselves to fuss over her. They moved her temporarily to a room on the first floor since the stairs proved too daunting an obstacle. The houselves had been in and out all day with every manner of drink, snack and poultice imaginable. Mrs. Malfoy had checked in on her at dinner, and Draco had visited her an hour after, talking to her about her broom work and apologizing for trying to teach her tricks so soon.

"Don't worry, I'll be back on my feet soon enough to beat you around the east wing," she'd sighed. He left with a smile.

She'd stayed awake about an hour more, reading through bits of _Complex Concoctions_, writing several letters to her friends at Zhong Mo Xue, and talking and playing with Artibius who had refused to leave her side since the accident. He perched on her shoulder and, when she laid down, snuggled beside her and beat her to a sleep peppered with contented wheezes.

He had retaken his place on her shoulder now, squealing unhappily.

She listened. For several minutes she heard only the crackling of the dying fire. Then, the sound that had woke her came again.

Muffled voices were dripping through the wall beside her. She sat listening for several minutes more but could hear nothing clearly. Eventually, even a grumpy Artibius sat up, listening.

She glanced over at the tall grandfather clock looming across the room. The shadow it threw on the wood-paneled floor lay stiff and flat like a corpse.

3:18. She turned her eyes back to the wall. What on earth would anyone be doing up and talking at three in the morning?

Artibius resumed his shrill grumble, trying to settle back down onto her pillow.

There were plenty of things that one could be doing at three in the morning, but…

One of the muffled voices was certainly Mister Malfoy's.

_Haven't you noticed that the most refined bloodshedders are almost always the most refined gentlemen?_

It was Snape's voice again. Her stomach turned in a lurch.

_No, Lili_, she chided herself, pulling the sheets back up to her waist and laying her head down beside Artibius. She was _bei gong she ying_—mistaking the bow's shadow for a snake. She couldn't go around assuming everything was a plot, no matter what she'd heard or how suffocated she felt in Mister Malfoy's stare. She pressed her eyes closed tight.

The voices behind the wall kept trickling through, rising and falling in tone and urgency. The fire had stopped crackling, and now it was only the light ticking of the grandfather clock that accompanied the muffled speech from the next room.

She lay still for half an hour, listening and yet trying not to listen, striving to push herself past the anxious curiosity and into sleep.

"Artibius," she whispered finally. The large bat didn't stir.

"Artibius," she tried again, a bit louder.

He cracked one eye, seeming to frown.

"I can't sleep. I need you to do me a favor."

He clicked angrily and, in the almost silent room, the sound echoed from the ceiling.

"I know, I know," she sighed, sitting up and pulling the covers off once again. "And I promise, if you do this, you can get undisturbed sleep the rest of your nights here. There's just—well, something I want to know."

Artibius seemed to groan but climbed up to her neck all the same.

"Fly around to the window. I want to see who's next door."

Artibius obviously disapproved but made no move of refusal.

She closed her eyes. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but she would see, and that was enough.

And if there _was_ nothing to see, then it could only make her feel more at ease. "_Jiejing a!_"

As Artibius lifted up and took a smooth flight, her vision grew obscured by shapes and colors rushing past. She slowly stood and, every step creaking on the wood floors, limped her way across the room to open the window. Outside the air was unrelentingly frozen.

She turned to look at Artibius and was met with a vision of her own face, paled by the moonlight, speckled with shadows. "Don't let them see you," she whispered, waving him on. Her heart was pounding: the voices next door had stopped if only for a moment.

Artibius took flight, finding his way to the next window. As quietly and quickly as she could, Lili hobbled back to her bed, pulling the covers up to her neck and watching the many ghosts of the night slide across her eyes.

The window of the next room was firmly fastened, and the shades were drawn. Artibius returned with a high, irritated squeal.

"Well," she sighed. "I suppose I just won't know." Left with only her imagination, she was sure no more sleep would come.

Artibius was seated on the doorknob, clawing at it eagerly.

"What? Just come on and forget it."

He squealed again in protest, pressing one claw firmly against the keyhole above the knob.

It took her a minute to understand. "Oh! Oh, yes, the keyhole! That door's bound to have one too!" All the doors on Malfoy Manor, she had noted already, had locks. "But do you think you can do it without anyone seeing you?"

Artibius looked affronted.

"Okay, okay," she said, petting his head, still seeing her own face looking back at her. "Just be careful, that's all. If you see anyone pass by, come straight back." She cracked the door, wincing as Artibius fluttered out, the sound of his wings whooshing loudly down the empty corridor.

The halls were eerily still, choked with dark. Tall suits of armor stood like shadowed sentinels beside the door. The paintings which stared down sternly from every wall were now shrouded in black save the sharp whites of their eyes. Artibius fluttered down on a nearby doorknob, pressing his eye to the keyhole.

At first the bright light stung, and she had to blink several times before her vision focused. Her mouth was dry, and she rolled her tongue around it slowly, taking in the scene Artibius revealed.

The room beyond the keyhole was brightly lit by fire. Though the keyhole provided only narrow vision, she could clearly see at least four tall but indistinct figures, one standing stiff in contemplation, the other three seated on a rather long sofa. From the skipping shadows on the floor, Lili guessed there were a few more present, though they sat or stood out of sight.

Artibius pressed his eye closer. The fuzzy firelight that glowed around the edges of the figures dimmed, and she could see them clearly.

The man standing was Mister Malfoy. He swirled a glass of yellow-gold liquid in his hand, seeming tired yet, somehow, awake, like a hungry serpent coiling itself. His shadow fell long on the carpeted floor, swallowing all others.

Two of the other men were familiar faces. One figure, seeming a statue in his seat, was Walden Macnair, the gruff-featured man Lili had met the previous evening at dinner. The second, also a dinner guest from the previous night, was Jeremiah Avery, who had sat back against the soft cushions of the sofa and was running his tongue over his teeth. The last figure was that of a thin and dark-skinned woman, but she was unfamiliar to Lili, and most of her features were masked by the shadows of the first two men.

At almost the same instant she saw Macnair's lips move, she heard a faint murmur once more through the wall. All the other figures turned to look at Macnair with indifferent eyes.

It was Malfoy's turn to speak now. His thin lips ruffled and the sound of the voices grew louder. The deep lines of Malfoy's brow told her unequivocally that this was more than an informal after-dinner party. Voices rose and fell, exchanged rapid and hot. Something was being debated.

Avery stood and floated towards the fire, seeming to glide on his air of self-importance. He gestured towards the flames and turned his eyes to Malfoy as if this was a challenge.

Malfoy laid the drink down with a heavy jerk and strode over to the fireplace. Keeping his eyes on the thin, curled smile of Avery, he pulled something from his robe pocket and threw it into the blaze.

There was a flash of light, and Lili had to blink several more times. She was barely breathing, afraid to make even the slightest noise, as if she herself was perched at the keyhole. Her fingers were gripping the sheets, heart beating so hard she was sure they would hear. She blinked ferociously trying to clear her vision.

The flash in her eyes faded, but she could still make out nothing new. All the forms in Artibius' line of vision stood, stiff and anxious. Even the self-possessed Avery twiddled almost imperceptibly with the loose cloth of his robes. She squinted hard but to no avail. What was it, she wondered, leaning forward as though willing Artibius to do the same. It must be something indeed to cause the rigid and yet quailing posture that had taken hold of everyone in the room.

At length, her vision completely clear, Lili could make out a shape, indistinct and manically shadowed in the flames. It was only, she guessed, a head, and the ghostly projection of one at that: someone was talking to them through the fire. The flames bounced around it, every eye in the room riveted.

And then Artibius leaned closer.

Lili felt as if her heart would burst. She didn't manage to stop her gasp.

Thin skin was pulled tight around jutting cheekbones, thick, black veins worming across the face and pulsing at its temples. The eyes were a snake's, placed wide and cold over slit nostrils. No lips could be seen: only a short gash of a mouth, drawn taut and small. The nostrils were flaring and, for just a moment, Lili felt he was looking out, looking through the keyhole, through Artibius and straight at her. She was helpless, and he was laughing…

The head in the fire could only be—she opened her mouth to say the word, as if somehow saying it might give her some power.

But the name choked in her throat.

Stomach turning, trembling, she muttered the spell. The head in the fire disappeared, and once again dark but still shadows surrounded her. She blinked, hoping to convince herself it had been a bad dream…

But even through lidded eyes, she could see his face, his sharp, unmoving gaze slicing through her skin.

She waited only long enough for Artibius to flutter back before shutting the door solidly. She sank to the floor.

Breath trickled in and out with great effort. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord. The names were bandied around Slytherin all the time, as if, somehow, he was a venerable old alumnus. But caught in those eyes, Lili had found nothing but abject terror at the cruel calculation, the hatred empty of purpose or exception—she was still shaking, back pressed firm against the door.

What was she doing there? Suddenly, none of what led up to the current situation made sense. She had been the Queen of Slytherin—had this been inevitable all along?

And she began to understand why Snape had given her _Notes_.. It was a warning; a message telling her how easy and dangerous it could be to get mixed up in Slytherin politics…to lose your life, your ability to choose...

Shadow had gathered in pools at her bare feet. The room suddenly seemed much colder, the furniture only hard-lines silhouetted in sickly moonlight. She felt tears stinging at her eyes and cursed herself for it. _You're here now, Lili. Don't go to pieces_. She had gotten herself too deep and crying about it wouldn't get her out.

She forced several deep breaths through her mouth. The air was bitter.

As much as she liked Draco, she had to get away. She would be unable to sleep, haunted by the specter of those glittering, pitiless eyes…She had to get out. Or at least, she had to talk to someone…

_Snape_.

He had talked to her, tried to warn her, if even obliquely. Her heart thumped. Surely he would know what to do…

Without even a thought more, she shuffled across the room as best she could and grabbed a quill from the table beside her bed. She had used all her parchment to write letters to send to Zhong Mo Xue, so she was forced to tear out the title page of _Complex Concoctions_ and scribble on the back. Her hand flew, and, though she tried to calm its shaking, her letters looped and jumped erratically.

_Professor Snape,_

_I'm sorry to bother you on the holidays. I need to talk to you. It's urgent. Please write me or come to Malfoy Manor. I think I may be in over my head. _

_Sincerely,_

_Elizabeth Lee_

Even as she wrote it, she knew he could not possibly visit her. But she wanted a word, anything: though it smarted to admit to it, she needed advice. She felt like pawn drowned in the shadows of tall, black knights.

And there, far at the end of the board, was the King.

She had played enough wizard's chess to know what happened to the helpless pawn.

She rolled the parchment tight and secured it with a hairpin. Though her hands had stopped shaking, her palms were slick with sweat. At great length, she looked down at Artibius who was watching her, close.

"Artibius, I need you to take this to Hogwarts," she said, holding out the letter. "Make sure it gets to Professor Snape and _only_ to Professor Snape."

The bat, who normally objected to long flights, took the roll in his claws without a sound.

Every step across the floor was painfully loud, and she was certain that, at any moment, an irate Lucius Malfoy would come bursting through the door, demanding her silence. The window opened again with barely a squeak, and Artibius fluttered up to the sill, nuzzling against Lili's stomach with two long, reassuring clicks.

"Thank you, Artibius," she sighed, petting his head lightly. "And be careful. Don't let anyone see you."

The bat merely puffed himself up and took off in a confident rush of air.

She stood at the window, watching him until his tiny form melted among the sharp stars and puffs of icy cloud.

Her knees weak, her muscles still hot from the sudden moment of fear, Lili melted into bed, though she knew too well sleep would not come. She lay for a long while staring up at the ceiling, feeling blanketed in heavy air, entombed in sheets of silk. Her mind tried to touch upon various aspects of her situation but then jerked away, unwilling. If she thought too much, she would have no peace. And beyond that, the Malfoys would wonder why she was so nervous and aloof…

No, for the moment, she would have to play the part. She did her best to banish the face of You-Know-Who from her mind, drowning herself in the oil-skinned covers of _Complex Concoctions_. She would wait for some word from Snape. Perhaps he would know what to do: perhaps he would understand the feeling of drowning in darkness…

With a sigh and a strong attempt to dry welling tears, she lay back and let the shadows rise over her face like water.

* * *

Five days past, and still no word from Snape. Artibius returned on the morning of the second day empty-handed.

Her ankle healed quickly and, to distract herself from anxiety and depression, she buried herself in the upstairs library, taking all meals save dinner there; --she still found herself forced to dine every evening with the Malfoys.

Draco seemed to have given up somewhat on inviting her for more flying lessons. After several rather brusque excuses, she hadn't seen him except at the dinner table. That, she decided, was all for the better. Though she liked him and hoped to continue their friendship at Hogwarts, Lili wanted as little to do with anyone while she was on Malfoy Manor as possible.

So, she remained alone, hidden away in her corner of the library. She had devoured _Complex Concoctions_ and had now begun a series of books on charm classes. The second volume, which resembled a bright green brick, was an examination of Celtic charms and their relation to modern spell classes.

Geeti scurried in and, disappearing between piles of books for a few seconds, finally emerged with a food-laden tray and a wide grin. "Here is Miss' lunch. Geeti is sorry it is late. Houselves is very busy preparing for New Year's."

Glancing over the green book, Lili couldn't help but smile back. The tiny elf had rested the tray on a tall stack of volumes and was now busying herself with removing lids and pouring tea.

"Thank you, Geeti. I didn't even notice the time." It was true. She had lost herself in a particularly interesting chapter on moon-related magic.

"Yes, Miss is hardly leaving for three days. Geeti thinks Miss should go out and get some air."

She turned her eyes back down towards the book, wanting to finish the chapter before eating.

"Miss is looking pale. Maybe getting sick," Geeti pressed, reaching up and touching Lili's forehead with a tiny hand.

Secretly, Lili _hoped_ to get sick. It would provide a convenient excuse to stow away in her room and miss even dinners. She kept her eyes heavily on the book. "Don't worry, Geeti, I'm fine."

The houself drew her hand away with a disbelieving tut.

"Well, nonetheless, the houself is right. You should get out of here once and a while."

Lili's heart skipped a beat. The voice brushed her skin, raising goose pimples. She looked up to see Lucius Malfoy's black-clad figure silhouetted in the door. "The sun is bright today: it's not too cold out."

Instantly, she felt her throat dry, blood beginning to drum in her ears. "Erm, yes I saw through the window. But I've started a rather fascinating set of books, hard to pull myself away." Though at that moment, she desired nothing more than to pull herself away.

Mister Malfoy cocked his head slightly and sauntered into the room, dusting his fingers over the spines of several volumes, keeping his eyes on her with a pale ferocity. "Yes, I thought you might enjoy this place. It's a shame Draco never really showed any interest: there's plenty of very _useful_ information in here."

Lili nodded, not trusting her voice.

He paced past the shelves for several moments, inspecting the books but removing none. She watched sidelong, battling with her face for some semblance of composure.

"I've heard, Miss Lee, and from many sources," he began sharply after a long pause, "that you have been doing Slytherin proud. My son tells me you've almost gained as many academic points as that Granger Mudblood. And I also hear you taught her a little lesson she won't soon forget."

Lili had to remind herself to blink. She gripped the green book so hard that her fingers turned white.

He was leaning on a bookshelf near her now, and she had no choice but to look up. His steely eyes were fastened upon her. The sunlight filtering in the windows made his hair shine white-gold.

"A rather nasty curse, I'm told. And one unknown to most of the professors there at Hogwarts, eh?"

She nodded again, trying not to let her eyes waver. She recognized the roundabout Slytherin style of speech: he wanted to ask her something, but was building a tower of flattery first.

"I also hear that you let a rather presumptuous piece of Gryffindor trash know his place." His voice dipped low into a growl, and, for a moment, Lili was overcome by the odd sensation that he was an animal, a tiger ready to leap.

She shifted, forcing a wan smile. "He had offended one of my friends most--obscenely." Here, in this library and under the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, the excuse seemed flimsy.

"Indeed."

There was another moment of thick silence, and Lili couldn't help but turn her gaze away. Looking at him all she could think of was the vision in the fire, their figures gathered around it, deferent and, yes, almost reverent. She spied a shadow from that fire in Lucius Malfoy's severe eyes.

"With skills such as yours," he said, having taken a book from the shelf to examine its cover closely, "you have a bright future ahead of you. Have you considered what you might want to do after graduation? It _is_ drawing nigh." Another half-tilted grin.

It hit her suddenly that she had to answer. Even under normal circumstances the question flustered her, but sprawled out under his gaze, her stomach lurched. "Um, I haven't really decided yet. I was thinking of doing something that involved potion-making, since that's my favorite, uh, but I wouldn't mind researching and assembling wands. That's a hard line of work, but potentially interesting." She swallowed, wondering if any lie could pass such a master of deception.

He scoffed, slamming the book down on the shelf. Lili cursed herself for jumping at the sound.

"Wand research?" It was a derisive chuckle. "Potions? Do you want to _waste_ all your talents and potential?" To her dismay, he took a seat at the end of the couch, turning towards her with a smoothly feigned intimation of conspiracy. "You have greater opportunities lying before you. There are those who could understand you, _appreciate_ your skills…"

Her stomach turned in terror. The full implication sat like a stone in her skull.

"There are opportunities for people of intelligence, of class, and of breeding." He leaned even closer towards her until she feared she might drown in the flashing silver. "You could go far if you allied yourself with the right people. The Lees have found themselves on the wrong side for too long. But you—great things await you if you so choose."

Every syllable that dripped from his thin lips, passed like an eternity of panic. What could she do? What could she say? Even now he stared at her, his eyes gleaming with the unspoken question. One nod of her head, and she was in. But if she didn't nod? What then? She could only imagine the consequences of declining…

She swallowed and sat stiff against the thick velvet of the couch. Somewhere behind her eyes, tears were stinging. He was piercing through her with his gaze; he was looking straight at her innards, measuring, examining, and more than that, demanding a response.

"Thank you."

Even as the words left her mouth, they caused her pain. They were deliberately ambiguous, but she felt certain Malfoy wouldn't find them so.

A sneer crawled across his face, and he stood, towering over her. His shadow, draping across her lap, seemed heavy. He did not speak but, like a shade, floated out of the room, black billowing behind him like smoke.

She could not hold back the tears but bit her tongue hard so as not to sob.

_'Thank you'?_ What did it mean? More importantly, what did it mean to him?

She brushed the tears away, but they persisted in falling, burning her eyes. No, she should have stood tall and spoken loudly. She was no mouse. _No,_ she should have said. _I may not be a Gryffindor, but I'm not one of you. Far from it._

But only a Gryffindor could have been so stupidly courageous. To say such a thing would have meant far more than simply turning down a cup of tea or a flying lesson. She would have shown where her loyalties lie, drawn a line in the sand. And, standing on the opposite side of a Malfoy while on Malfoy Manor was treading in dangerous and lonely territory.

There was a flash of fire in her mind and the burning but brief vision of cold, serpentine eyes.

She shuddered. What could she do? She had started down this road by deciding to stay in Slytherin, by alienating her father, by the Stone-heart Curse, and the incident with Seamus. She had sent out signals without even knowing: and now, to her dismay, she was drowning…

And there was only one person she could hope would pull her out.

Her legs were shaking so fiercely that she was barely able to make it to her room. Collapsing on her bed, she tore out the title page of _Notes from Underground_ and began scrawling madly.

This time she went on writing for almost an hour, pouring out every second of the story, every thought and regret and fear. _Please come_, she begged him. _Tell Malfoy you want to see him. Anything. I need advice and—_she paused. What could she expect from him? He hadn't replied to her first call, why should he now? Was he regretting giving her _Notes_? Did he believe she was lost?

Well, she sighed to herself, it was worth a try. Without Snape, she _could_ very well find herself lost…

Fighting back tears she dashed the last words quickly. _Someone I trust._

Artibius was already waiting on the desk's edge, watching her through small, sad eyes.

"Artibius. Take this to Snape. Don't let anyone else see it."

He blinked and soared out the window, disappearing into the glowing fire of the sun.

She pushed back the tears from her cheeks, unconsciously running her fingers over the spine of _Notes_. "And—please hurry."

Whether she was speaking to Artibius or to Snape, even she wasn't sure.


	11. New Year's Eve

_Chapter Eleven_: New Year's Eve

"Are you sure he didn't say anything?" Lili fell back on her bed, silk dress robes rustling angrily.

Artibius clicked in a mournful tone, meeting her gaze with great reluctance.

She felt her body grow heavy, sinking into the smooth sheets. Artibius had been gone for three days, and now he returned, empty-handed—well empty-clawed.

The large bat crawled onto her chest and nuzzled against her chin. He clicked consolingly several more times before settling down, exhausted, in the curve between her shoulder and neck.

"How could he do that, Artibius? Just say nothing!" From beneath the floor she began to here the muffled crescendo of voices.

She had poured her heart into that letter, and he had done nothing, sent no words of comfort. And what could she do now? Sit around until Lucius Malfoy decided what to do with her? Until she had no choice but to become a Death Eater? Shoving her hand under her pillow she found Snape's tattered copy of _Notes_ and clutched it hard. "And now I have to go to their damn New Year's Eve party and look them in the eyes and pretend I'm not scared out of my bloody mind!" She flung the book across the room and it hit the standing mirror, knocking it over backwards.

"Is everything okay in here?" The door behind her creaked open, Draco's slender form blotting the light from the corridor beyond.

Lili had already bolted upright and was pushing the book out of sight with her foot. "Yes, but I'm afraid I've accidentally knocked over the mirror."

Draco took his time crossing the room, eyeing Artibius for a moment before looking down at the shards of glass littering the floor. They twinkled in the firelight like diamonds. "Don't worry about it. I'll send a houself up." He laid a cool-fingered hand on her bare elbow. "Why don't we go on downstairs. Most of the guests have arrived, and Father wants us to be announced soon."

Lili was so aware of his touch that the coolness ossified her veins. He was looking at her as warmly as a Malfoy could through eyes made of frozen glass. But there was something so like his father in him, so lopsided and cold, that she found it difficult not to pull away. "Um, yes, that's fine. I just need to slip on some shoes."

She scurried across to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of pale green slippers, Draco watching her intently. The shoes had been, like the dress, specially made for this occasion and matched everything else with a calculated elegance. Sure Draco could not see her face, she dabbed at her eyes, being certain no trace of tears remained.

When she did turn to meet him, it was with the strongest smile she could muster. "I'm ready then."

They said no other word as they made their way through the long corridor, down the stairs and towards the ballroom. Draco seemed to be standing taller than normal, and his expression had changed, become less like a boy's. His lips were drawn tight and his eyes fixed, unwavering, to the front. Something in it made Lili's palms sweat.

They stood outside the tall ballroom doors for several moments, waiting their turn to be announced. There were several other people behind them, all dressed with impeccable taste, noses held firmly in the air. Even as she examined them, they refused to let their eyes flit down to her for even a moment. She had no doubt, however, they would look her over later, when they could do so unnoticed. She had the feeling that in this place everyone was watching everyone, missing nothing.

The ballroom doors opened, and the voices that had been muted burst forth like racing horses. Music wafted out, and the sound of hundreds of feet dancing, of laughter and idle conversation echoed down the corridor. The light from within was brilliant, and Lili felt it sift over her skin with a wave of warmth. The jewels around her neck shivered like flames.

"Master Draco Malfoy and Miss Elizabeth Lee."

It was a deep, drawling voice, and, by the time it finished her name, she and Draco had glided into the room and were standing amidst a staggeringly large crowd. Everyone grew still, hundreds of eyes raking over her, whispers sprouting like weeds. She pushed her head higher and did her best to ignore every single one.

Draco leaned in towards her. "Don't worry about all that. It's just that this is the first year I haven't invited Pansy to be introduced with me, that's all. It's like Slytherin, you know. Everyone loves something that could be the start of a good rumor."

Even as Draco spoke Pansy's name, Lili spied her and her mother, Patricia, approaching them from across the ballroom. Both mother and daughter were trussed up in thin pink lace and gauze.

"Oh bugger," Draco groaned.

"Draco!" Misses Parkinson said loudly, pulling a reluctant Pansy behind her. "Hello, hello. Don't you look nice." Her eyes fell on Lili, who was doing her best not to laugh at how unhappy Pansy looked being dragged along. "Oh, and, erm, Lili, wasn't it? It's nice to see you again, as well. Looking lovely, though the color doesn't do much for skin as pale as yours, I'd say." She sniffed. "Maybe my Pansy could pull it off, but she's also got a healthier tone." Misses Parkinson's face was about to crack in half from smiling, Lili thought. She didn't bother to return the grin, taking a deep breath and meeting their gazes wearily, first Pansy's then her mother's.

"Yes, well, Pansy has a much –erm—_healthier_ figure as well, doesn't she? Don't think it would look too good in Lili's dress." Draco spat, squeezing at Lili's arm and turning away from the two pink-drenched women flippantly. "Come on, Lili, let's go have a dance, shall we?"

Though her stomach still jostled with a terrible mixture of anger and anxiety, Lili couldn't help but grin.

"Don't mind those Parkinson twits, either," he said, stopping in the middle of the ballroom floor and taking Lili's waist in one hand and her fingers in the other. "Pansy's mum is just peeved because she always figured Pansy would end up with me, and she'd get the run of Malfoy Manor. The lot of them are gold-diggers, if you catch my meaning. That Daniel ought to watch himself or he'll get in the same bind I was in, poor fellow."

Lili wanted to ask him more about Pansy, but she decided against it, recalling her earlier decision not to get too much more involved with Draco here on the Manor. She straightened, remembering herself and focusing all her attention on dancing.

Draco twirled her about for quite some time, the gold and white and brilliant sheen of the ballroom rushing past her like a dream. She was continually met with faces, gazing at her side-long, curious and cold. She felt the same discomfort she had at the Yule Ball, but this time, behind it, lurked a deep and abiding fear. Each eye that swept past her might have been one of _them_. Each tall figure that brushed the skirt of her dress might have, once, been a cold-blooded murderer. And might be again—soon.

And what would become of her, sunk so deep in this world, in the morass of Malfoy Manor?

With every thought, she blinked and tried to wash her mind, concentrating on stolen views of her form in the tall mirrors that lined the walls. Pale green silk danced around her like a fine shroud.

A loud and clear bell rang, shaking the mirrored walls and quieting the hall almost instantly. Draco stopped dancing, keeping his hands on her loosely while she finished a spin.

"Dinner is soon to be served! Please, my honored guests, take your seats next door in the dining hall, and we will continue our celebrations with a feast!"

Though she could not see the source of the invitation, Lili recognized the icy smoothness of it easily enough. Lucius Malfoy was across the ballroom, nodding to everyone who passed on their way to the dining hall. He met Lili and Draco with a half-smile. She returned it, biting at her tongue fiercely.

The ballroom began to live once again, some people continuing to dance, but most making their way towards the doors. Draco stood still for a moment, as if thinking, before he took his hands from her waist.

"Yes, well, shouldn't we go find our seats next door?" Lili asked, watching Draco carefully. He seemed intent on some thought. "Is something wrong?"

He turned slowly and met her eyes. "No, no. I just, well, we'll be sitting near Father and his close friends. It always makes me a bit nervous."

_You and me both_, she thought, taking Draco's arm once more.

"I just don't want to make a fool of myself. Every year Father yells at me afterwards for saying something I shouldn't." Draco sighed. "But maybe this year, if I just stick to talking with you, I'll keep myself out of trouble." He gave her a wan grin.

They turned towards the entryway, arm in arm. The doors swung open to allow the guests out, but, instead, a gaunt, dark figure slid out from the black corridor beyond. He stood before them, looking down at Lili through cool and piercing eyes.

Her mouth dropped open, and she was barely able to suppress a gasp.

A booming voice echoed through the ballroom.

"Mister Severus Snape."

* * *

Snape hardly acknowledged her presence, brushing past her into the ballroom. Lili's mouth had dropped open, and her eyes were following the Potion Master's form intently. Draco looked at her, then at Snape who was making his way towards the host and hostess.

Lili couldn't tear her gaze away from his dark form slicing through a sea of smiles and finery. Seeing him, almost everyone parted, affording him little more than a disinterested glance.

"Shall we go then?" Draco leaned forward, trying to regain Lili's eyes.

"Oh—oh yes. I'm sorry," she sputtered, turning away, and smoothing at her dress. "I guess I'm just surprised to see Professor Snape here. I didn't realize he was the partying type."

Draco began sweeping her from the room and, in the dark corridor, his features grew obscured in torchlight. "Yes, well, he's really not. I don't really remember him coming to a Manor party in some years. Though he's always invited. Dad and he have been acquaintances since their Hogwarts years."

Something sounded in her mind to hear this, and she wondered how close of friends they had been, and why. And, moreover, if Lucius had indeed been a Death Eater, then…

_Not 'had been'_, she reminded herself, with a quaking breath. _Is; —is a Death Eater_.

She swallowed deeply and pushed the thought away. It would be something to examine later, but here, surrounded by these people, having her mind too far and distracted could be dangerous.

Once in the dining room, they passed along the table, tickled by a few surreptitious eyes and greeted by several painfully obsequious lips. Draco merely nodded, much in the manner of his father, and it was the best Lili could do to keep her gaze fixed straight ahead. Only dots of candlelight blinked past her like fireflies.

They were seated at the head of the main table, the normal spot for her dinners on the Manor. Now, however, these chairs seemed hallowed, and none would dare sit in them save those who had been invited. The head seat, still empty, had been fixed slightly higher than normal, a thin platform propping it above the others at a powerful height.

Lili sighed. The last thing she needed was for Lucius Malfoy to be made more intimidating, even in the smallest way. She took a cloth napkin and laid it across her lap, limiting her gaze to Draco and her plate.

Small salads were served to distract the waiting guests. Slowly, the seats at the head of the table filled, and Lili allowed herself only quick glances stolen between bites. Avery. Macnair. The dark-skinned woman she had spied in the downstairs room almost a week earlier. The rest were unfamiliar faces, though Lili guessed that, had she been able to see the entire downstairs room that night, she would have recognized many more.

In the middle of crunching her salad, there was a small commotion, and several houselves scurried past, bearing a chair that, in their tiny arms, seemed most unwieldy. After moments of tottering back and forth and toppling over on more than one occasion, they laid it to rest directly across from Lili and tottered off without a word.

She finished the bite and stabbed at another, her eyes riveted on the table. All around her the Hall was exploding with noisy chuckles and the tinkling of forks and champagne flutes.

It reminded her of the Great Hall, which, at the moment seemed a marvelous dream. Somewhere altogether perfect, away from all the finery and the champagne and the designer robes with matching jewels. She missed Dia and Mishal—and, by Merlin, even Milicent. At least among them she could handle herself. At least there, she knew _she_ was in control. She wondered briefly if Draco felt the same.

It wasn't until a few moments later that the empty chair across from her pulled out with a moan, and she allowed her gaze to rise.

Snape had taken his seat and was laying a napkin across his lap, careful to avoid her eyes. She looked down again, feeling her face burn. What in the world was she going to do? How would she be able to meet with him in a setting like this?

And moreover she wondered how she would be able to talk to him at all without feeling the same burning blush. It was painfully awkward, remembering all she'd read in Notes and all the fears she'd scrawled out in that letter. And how could she be certain he was even here to see her? He probably thought she was a child: a reckless child who'd stepped into something he'd warned her not to. Why should she expect he'd do anything?

She felt his eyes flit over her and shoved another bite of salad into her mouth.

"Hello, Miss Lee."

The voice seemed to carve through all the other noise assailing her, striking at her ears, all violent velvet. She hurried to chew and swallow, raising her head with the effort of lifting a lead ball.

"Hello, Professor."

His eyes touched hers for only an instant before drifting over to her left, towards Draco.

"Hello, Draco."

Draco allowed Snape only a brief nod and half-smile before continuing on with his salad.

A man to Snape's right then engaged him in conversation, and she felt her muscles loosen, relieved of the pressure of having to speak again.

Though her eyes remained firmly fixed on lettuce leaves, Lili began to feel keenly aware of Snape's presence: his long-fingered hands on the silver fork; his smooth, low voice snaking within the mass of noise; his legs, spindly, beneath the table near hers. She felt his foot brush across hers lightly. Another burning blush.

Chewing hard, she forced herself to blink. _Calm down, stupid girl_. It wasn't as if anyone else knew why he was here: no one else knew about the letters. _Calm down,_ she chanted to herself, grinding a tomato between her teeth. No one else knew how scared she was, and it would stay that way if she didn't lose her head.

Just as she swallowed, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy entered the hall, gliding along the table and stopping for several brief conversations and a few chuckles. Draco scooted in closer to the table, smoothing the napkin in his lap and straightening the silverware beside his plate. A fluttering erupted in Lili's stomach.

Helping his wife to her seat, Lucius took his own with all the airs of a king. Perched slightly higher than everyone, he looked down on the table, examining its inhabitants with a pursed grin.

As if this was the awaited signal, houselves poured in through every door, laden with silver trays and bowls that soaked the hall in the thick fragrances of fine food. Even before the dishes were laid down, she felt permeated with steam and scent, her tongue tingling in excitement. She picked a little from almost every tray, her plate soon covered with steaming potatoes, fish, pâté, fresh fruits. She found herself so distracted by the delectables that, when Lucius Malfoy's cool voice floated down to her, she was caught off guard.

"So, Lili, are you enjoying the food and the festivities?"

The salmon in her mouth turned sour. She gulped it with some difficulty, lifting her eyes to meet his and those around her.

"Oh, yes. Everything has been so lovely." The silence seemed unbearable, pushing her to say more. "It's been quite some time since I've celebrated a new year like this."

"I daresay the Lees have never had the means to celebrate anything like _this_." Jeremiah Avery turned up his nose and examined the champagne in his glass with a lopsided smirk.

Lili felt an objection rise in her throat but silenced it with another bite of salmon.

"Nor has an Avery."

Avery glanced over at Snape as if to say something, but seeing the flash in the Potion Master's eyes, settled merely for a deep frown.

It was interesting to note, Lili decided, that Snape was as short with his friends as with his "hopeless" first-year students.

Sensing the tension, Misses Malfoy sat up and, dabbing at the sides of her mouth, changed the subject. "Well, Severus, it has been a while since you joined us at the manner for anything other than a quick drink. What brings you here?"

Lili's stomach dropped, and she feared she might choke on a strawberry. She looked at Snape with wide eyes. _Oh please, have a good excuse, please…_

"To see you, Narcissa, of course," he snorted, grinning vaguely.

Misses Malfoy chuckled. "Well, I'm flattered, thought not deceived. You only come for business, Severus, we all know that. The last social call you made was—well I think it was when Draco was born."

"Yes, and, as I recall, even then all you did was talk business over the cradle, eh Severus?" Lucius Malfoy was glancing at Snape over a glass of yellow champagne. And though he smiled, his eyes were cold and hard.

Snape wouldn't engage the host, opting instead to keep his eyes on a heap of potatoes. "Well I'm a busy man and have little time for the distraction these parties of yours afford, Lucius." From the edge in his voice, Lili was certain something more lurked under these words than most might have understood. "I put all my effort into my work."

Lucius didn't answer, but the conversation was quickly picked up.

"Yes, Severus, we all respect your devotion to work but, really—all books and potions, no parties, no social life, no woman." It was the dark-skinned woman who spoke now, twirling her thin, silver fork through her fingers and smiling widely at the Potions Master. "You live like a monk, Severus."

There were a few chuckles, taken quietly.

Snape lowered his fork but raised his eyes, meeting the dark-skinned woman's smug gaze with a smirk. "Well, Junia, whenever you wish, you may visit Hogwarts and relieve me of my monkly-status. However, I find many women eager to suggest this, but none so eager to volunteer for the job."

The bluntness of his retort caused Lili fumble with the napkin in her lap.

"Anyway, I am perfectly content with books and potions, and nothing else." His face returned to its usual frown, and he lowered his head once more, taking a bite.

There was a long moment of thick silence, filled only with the clatter of conversations further down the table. Lili concentrated fiercely on her pâté and her glass as it clunked against the wooden table. She wondered vaguely if this was what became of Slytherin friendships.

Lucius Malfoy attempted to snatch back the conversation. "Yes, well, Severus, you seem to have yourself another monk –well, should I say nun-in-training. Lili here has hardly left the library during her entire stay on the Manor."

Lili's stomach heaved, and she pushed her fork hard against her plate to steady herself. Why on earth did he have to direct the conversation towards her?

"Study's good at a young age." It was the gruff and rasping voice of Walden Macnair. Though she had previously wondered if the man could actually speak at all, she was glad now that he could, in order to come to her aid.

"Very true, very true," Mister Malfoy said, directing a sharp and scolding glance at Draco, before turning back to meet Macnair with a nod. "You know, I was talking to a man at the Department of Magical Education just yesterday and—"

The conversation turned away from herself and Snape, and Lili concentrated merely on being grateful for this and pushing food into her mouth. She did her best to block out what was being said, trying to figure out how Snape was going to do anything sitting at the table. _Perhaps when we go back to the ballroom_, she thought. _Or perhaps he'll leave me a letter_.

_Or perhaps not at all_, she thought darkly, pulling hard at her champagne.

The dinner went on for quite some time before Mister Malfoy pushed his chair away from the table and stood, looming over them like a cold, gray ghost.

"Well, I think it's time that we should retire. Gentlemen, Junia, Elleanor—would you care to join me in the drawing room? We'll leave the rest of the night's festivities to my dear wife."

Slowly, most of the adults seated at the head of the table, including Snape, stood and left their chairs, heading for the doors of the hall until only Lucius remained. His cold eyes flickered over Lili and Draco slowly, with a calculating smile.

Lili's heart pounded. _No, please. Don't ask me, please don't ask…_

"Draco." Malfoy's voice was hard and firm.

A smile the likes of which Lili had never seen from him spread across Draco's face. He stood quickly, like a puppy eager to follow its master.

"You'll come with us."

Draco turned and at looked at Lili with glittering eyes.

"Don't worry, Draco, dear, we'll take care of Lili for you," Misses Malfoy said, standing and seeming so proud of her son that she might burst. "There are plenty of things for us ladies to do while you're off with your father."

Though Lili didn't understand how it was possible, Draco's smile seemed to take over more of his face, and he turned, following closely at his father's feet, disappearing into the dark shadows beyond the hall doors.

The seats around her were empty, except for several of Misses Malfoy's good friends. She had been abandoned, by Draco, by Snape.

Her stomach turned. _Snape_. He had gone off with them, to do their "business." He had not stopped to help her, hadn't afforded her more than a few words—had she been wrong to trust him? A rush of panic shook her. If he was indeed one of them – but her thoughts stumbled. No, no. It couldn't be. He wouldn't have warned her, he wouldn't have been the same man that she had heard speak those words through the black and white bars of _Notes_…

Inside, all the night's feast seemed to be boiling, her stomach jolting in violent protest.

"Well, Lili, why don't we get back to the ballroom. It will be midnight soon, and just at midnight, the musicians play a wonderful concert: some Mozart, a few Beethoven pieces and this year I've talked them into a Chopin piece on Mister Malfoy's grand piano." Misses Malfoy's thin and perfectly painted lips were drawn up in a warm smile.

Lili's muscles began to ache from the tension, and her stomach roiled. "Actually, Misses Malfoy, I don't feel well at all." The back of her throat went dry, but she continued with this half-truth, her only hope of getting away before she collapsing from anger, anxiety, disappointment and sorrow. "I think I'm just not used to such rich food and, well, to the champagne." This was partly true. She guessed that a part of her growing nausea could be attributed to the champagne she had gulped in an attempt to relax.

Misses Malfoy's smile faded. "You do look quite pale, dear. Perhaps after so much study and austerity, this sort of thing is a bit of a shock. I'll send Geeti up to your room, and she can look after you."

Lili nodded, feeling such relief she thought she might fall down right there at the table.

"And do feel free to come and join us if you're feeling any better," someone else called. But Lili was already half-way out of the hall and thought it best to pretend she hadn't heard.

After the ballroom and the dining hall, the dark, torch-lit corridors of Malfoy Manor seemed oddly claustrophobic and eerily quiet. As soon as she was away from eyes, she set her feet to the stone floors at as much of a run as she could muster, desperate to get to her room and crawl beneath the silk sheets where no one would watch her or plot and plan anything.

"Slow down, Miss Lee. 'They stumble who run fast.'"

The voice echoed down the empty corridors, and several suits of armor seemed to shiver with a tinny whine at its baritone. She jumped.

For a moment the voice itself seemed disembodied, and she wondered if Malfoy Manor, like Hogwarts, was inhabited by spirits of some sort. A tall, thin figure shifted out of the shadows in the distance.

"Pro-professor." Her heart was still beating heavily, and she took an involuntary step back, still too unsure to smile.

He looked down at her, thin lips frowning. "Let's talk. In this room here." He gestured to an open door to her left, and she nodded, following him and trying very hard to seem cool and unafraid.

Snape flipped on the lights, revealing dusty cabinets packed with yellowing scrolls and folders, papers stacked loosely on every available surface. She examined one; it looked like a receipt.

"An archive for one of the Malfoys' many businesses," Snape informed her, clearing off a chair and offering it to her. She sat, watching the Potions Master closely. He looked much more tired than he had at Hogwarts, and, it seemed, his hands could not keep themselves still. He had given over to restacking the papers and files from her chair.

A heavy silence settled upon them, and, for a moment, it seemed neither would force the other to speak. Lili ran her fingers through the dust on the desk beside her, tracing widening spirals.

_Well, it's now or never…_

"I read _Notes_." Her voice fought its way free, seeming, outside her body, far too frail and unsure.

He looked up at her, emotions still locked inside his eyes.

"It was very—" She paused. What could she say? How could she tell him? Hmm…perhaps that she understood the warning; that she appreciated his concern. No, he wouldn't accept anything that accused him of such emotion. But that was what she felt: --a desire to explain that she was beginning to understand, on some level, what he had meant. And now, she wanted his advice, most of all because of what he had shown her. "I liked it."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have much time to talk. I must catch up with Lucius and the others and make a brief appearance. What—"

"Why?" She blurted this out before she thought better of it.

If the question startled him, he gave no indication. "Come, Miss Lee. You're a Slytherin. You know that one must pay some service to the powerful, as distasteful as it might be or as little as one may mean it. Now as I was saying, I've read your letters. I'm sorry I sent no response, but, I thought it might be too risky." He paused and, leaning on the desk, looked at her over his hooked nose. "Unfortunately, I think you, too, must learn a bit more caution. Don't send me any more letters, even through Artibius."

Lili swallowed. She wanted to ask him more about his association with Malfoy, but he had stopped the questions in their tracks. She nodded.

There was more quiet, and Lili examined Snape's face closely. His eyes were fixed on his own hands still restlessly straightening papers. The ashen skin of his face seemed stretched thin, and he himself appeared even thinner than normal, cheekbones jutting severely from his face. His lips were pressed, and she could see that, in his mind, he was forming his words, his sentences carefully.

"Professor—I'm—I'm scared."

The frankness startled not only herself but Snape, and all his planning and careful words seemed to crumble under the tremulous whisper.

Instantly, Lili regretted saying it and forced herself to sit up straighter and lean forward as if to prove stronger than her voice had hinted. "It's just that, well I'm almost sure Mister Malfoy thinks that I—that I want to—" She shook her head, trying to straighten out the words. "He thinks I want to be like him. And I'm almost certain he wants me to join—" Her voice crashed once more. "You-Know-Who."

"If you're to get anywhere around the likes of Malfoy," he said, taking a deep breath, "you better stop with that nonsense. A thing should be called what it is. It's Voldemort and nothing more or less." Snape's voice was stern, and, for a moment, Lili felt as if she was back in Potions class hearing him lecture Ron Weasley on the proper amount of dried fairywing for a sleeping potion.

She nodded. "Voldemort." Her tongue twisted in disgust.

He took another deep breath and leaned more heavily on the desk. "I asked Lucius about you somewhat subtly before dinner, but he would give me no straight answer. I think he has not yet decided what to make of you or your future. That should give you some comfort."

In truth it did, though the idea that Lucius Malfoy was thinking about her or her future in any way made the comfort somewhat less than she was hoping.

"However…" Snape's eyes clouded. "I fear everything you mentioned in your letter is quite true. All the signals you have given will be read by Malfoy and others as, well, as signs that this is what you want. He would not have approached you if he had not already discussed it with others in the Fold. And because of your-- talents, it is likely they will ask you soon…"

Suddenly, her throat tightened, and breathing became difficult. _Because of your talents, you stupid girl._ She could find no words, no thoughts in her mind: only a deep and rising sorrow. It had wrapped around her heart and was now squeezing her throat. _You've done this to yourself, ruined your life…because of your talents, you stupid, stupid girl._ She began to sob.

"Miss—Lili, please." Snape shifted back and forth, not knowing what to do. His hands fidgeted with the papers and his robes, and he looked at her as if commanding her to stop.

But she could no longer stop, though she wished for nothing more. The tears were no longer hers to command. Her insides ached.

She was going to become one of them. _Slytherin trash. Scum._ All at once, she remembered her father's eyes, his voice so tight …

_He was right…_

"How—could—I—be—so—stupid—" She sobbed, hiding her face with her hands. "I never—meant—I can't—believe—I—"

And then, suddenly, she found herself somewhere she never dreamed she would be: in Snape's arms.

The embrace was awkward, and Snape's body remained rigid and unsure. From sheer shock the tears dried in her eyes and her body stopped shaking. She became, at once, exceedingly aware of herself, the slope of her shoulders. He smelled, as always of soap and whatever draught he had been making last, and she felt, for that brief moment, the scent seep into her, the lean contours of his hands around the back of her neck. Her hands fell from her face, and she looked up at him, all breath ceased.

He took his arms away quickly.

_Say something, Lili. Say something_.

But she could think of nothing to say.

His eyes met hers, and in them she spied a smoldering embarrassment. He hadn't wanted to do it. It was an imitation of something he'd seen, something he knew ought to be done. It had been little more than an attempt to quiet her: but he had done it all the same, and, for that, she was eternally grateful.

"Lili." His voice was slow and rhythmic, and she felt that if she closed her eyes, it might lull her into sleep. "Voldemort, his followers—they've fooled many of—many people. This place you are, you did nothing but what you...did—" he paused, swallowing, as if trying to conjure something definite, "And…you know it's not—it wasn't right. That's better than most have done…in your position."

Pulling his eyes away, Snape stood, turning once more to the stack of papers, careful to avoid any further hint of emotion. Every movement became forced. "I will do everything I can to help you out of this. I will leave early tonight: as you might have noticed I am not exceedingly popular even with my friends. As soon as I am back at Hogwarts, I will speak with the Headmaster."

Lili looked up and opened her mouth to object.

"No, trust me," Snape interrupted. "Albus Dumbledore is a wise. His will be the best counsel. I promise you, there is no one in the world you would rather hear these things than he."

She sat back. Every part of her screamed not to tell anyone else, fearing shame or even expulsion, but she had no choice but to trust Snape's judgment.

And somehow Snape himself had been in this situation before, she was almost certain. Had he told Dumbledore? How had he saved himself? Or had he?

As if in a violent reaction, Lili reached out and touched Snape's arm.

The Potions Master jumped and turned to meet her, looking affronted, but she could not move her hand.

"Miss Lee—"

"Please, Professor," she stood, rising almost to his height. "I just—thank you."

Snape pulled away his arm, stepping back, eyes flat and uninviting. "What are you thanking me for? I've done nothing yet."

She reached out again, touching his thin wrist. "Thank you for coming tonight, for offering your help. Thank you for—this." She was careful to hold the tears from her eyes. "I don't know if I could go through this alone."

He pulled away again. "I'm afraid, Miss Lee, you will have to go through this alone." His head sank lower, chin almost to his chest. "But I will do my best to be certain you are safe to make your choices, when the time comes."

She didn't reach out to him again but forced his eyes to hers and smiled weakly. No words came to her lips, and she hoped her face said what her mouth could not.

Though he kept her gaze for only a short time, she could tell he thought it too long. He stood straight, and laid the stack of papers back in her chair. "I must be going. I don't know how I'll be able to contact you if I need to. But don't use Artibius . Perhaps I'll come by again before school. I can always make up some 'business' to be discussed."

She nodded, trying not to think of it.

"Do your best to stay away from Lucius Malfoy," he said, moving towards the door, gripping the handle in thin, eager fingers. "Be careful. Play the Queen of Slytherin, and you should be safe."

Hearing this epithet made her feelings of nausea redouble. She knew she'd have no problem avoiding Lucius Malfoy—she wanted nothing better. But to be the quintessential Slytherin: she didn't know if she could stomach it anymore. "I'll try." A dry whisper.

He opened the door and looked back at her, a hint of mourning. His wan complexion now drenched in half shadow and half dim light, she was suddenly overcome with the sensation of looking down on him, far below, a spectre of a man half in the grave. Tears were burning now behind her eyes, but she swallowed them, hard. "Thank you, Professor."

"Good night, Miss Lee." He disappeared into the darkness of the further corridor leaving Lili alone once again.

Before she could start crying, she flicked the lights in a hard and violent motion and took off once more for her room, running despite Snape's earlier words of caution.

* * *

Hours passed, and all Lili could manage was to stare at the thick book on her lap, not really comprehending any words. Midnight came and went, but she felt no change. From below her the sound of smooth violins and tinkling piano keys rose like a whisper.

She couldn't let herself think about anything that had happened that night. Or anything before. Her mind was exhausted, wrung, and she merely waited for her body to follow suit, tucked away between silk sheets and downy pillows. Artibius snoozed loudly beside her. He had grown quite lazy, sleeping, often, even at night. She reached down and petted his belly absent-mindedly.

Tears would, on occasion, sting her eyes, but they came and went of their own accord. Mostly, what few thoughts passed through her mind were random pictures, many of Draco. She thought only briefly of the smile on his face, following his father from the room. No doubt it was something he had dreamed of all his life. She had seen in that grinning face nuances of his father's cruelty: hard indifference twinkling behind his steely eyes, and demons long hidden rising to the surface, lurking in the upturned corners of his lips. Whether there was any hope for him, Lili still could not decide. And now, she had closer concerns to consider.

She had slid down even farther beneath the sheets and was just beginning to feel the slow tingle of exhaustion take hold of her senses, when the door creaked open and Geeti hurried in and to the side of her bed.

The houself had been in several times that evening, checking on her health and bringing her books she'd requested, but this time, her wide eyes and fidgeting fingers made Lili sit up. "I'm fine, Geeti. I was just going to sleep. Is something wrong?"

The small elf's squirming increased, and she crossed the room to the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of modest, black robes and some shoes. "Master is asking for Miss right away. Miss must get dressed and come downstairs."

Lili sat still for a moment, listening. "The music's gone. Isn't the party over?"

Geeti shook her head, holding the robes out to her and shaking them with urgency. "Not for party. Master is asking for you in the main drawing room. Miss must hurry."

The room drained of air, and Lili felt as though she was suffocating, her throat tight with shock. "W-Why?"

"Geeti is not knowing, Miss. Geeti is just knowing what Master tells her and that is Miss must hurry downstairs." The elf pulled her out of bed with a strength Lili couldn't believe the tiny creature possessed.

Every one of Lili's limbs was too leaden to move, but the houself took over, pulling the robes over her head and lifting her feet to fit the shoes.

"Geeti—I'm, I'm not well. Please, go and tell Mister Malfoy that I can't come down, and that I'll speak to him another time." Her voice was quivering, and she eyed the houself pleadingly, every inch of her skin hot with fear.

But the houself had taken hold of her hand and was pulling her out the door. "No, no. Miss must go now. Master says it is urgent. He told me to wake you if I had to and bring you no matter what."

Lili opened her mouth, but no words came out. She could think of nothing to say, no way to escape the meeting. And the houself was pulling her resolutely down the stairs and through the dark, cold corridors. A horrible chill set deep into her bones.

They arrived at the drawing room, and now she truly did feel quite ill. It was not the same room she had spied into before: this one had thick, oak doors, twice her height. Geeti turned the iron knob slowly, and the door gaped open like a giant mouth. She began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Miss is cold," Geeti said, pushing her into the room and then scurrying off to the opposite side where a fireplace stood, unlit. "I will light a fire for Miss while she waits for the Master." The houself busied herself at the hearth.

The room itself was not, in fact, the drawing room, but merely a small antechamber that led into it. The doors to the drawing room were shut tight and seemed even thicker and more imposing than the ones she had just entered. She wilted into a chair, pulling her knees to her chest and fighting back tears not merely of fear and sadness, but of pure emotional exhaustion.

Geeti lit a fire that drenched the room in warmth, turning and exiting quickly, without a word. The oak doors closed with a thud, and she was left alone.

Despite the heat, she continued to quake. The room seemed dead and silent, though the crackling of the fire popped viciously against her ears. Even louder came the beating of her heart, and she forced herself to breath slowly and deeply in some effort to quiet it. She strained to hear anything from the next room.

But there was only silence, and she curled up tighter, rocking gently back and forth. She wished for Snape to be there, to give her some advice. But, she decided, he would long have left the Manor and headed back to Hogwarts. Would Malfoy have told him he was calling on her tonight? Would he know of her danger?

Or had they discovered the letters between them—that Snape had been ready to tell Dumbledore about everything. What would they do to her if they found out her true feelings? What would they do to him?

And yet, the other alternative possibilities for this audience seemed even grimmer still.

When the great oak doors finally opened, it was with an explosion Lili felt might shatter her heart.

Two figures emerged, almost eerily similar. The first was Draco, followed closely by the taller and colder specter of his father.

"Lili." Lucius Malfoy's voice, as hard as the blade of knife, sliced through whatever strength she had left, causing her to shudder more fiercely still.

She pulled her legs down and straightened herself like a snake uncoiling itself and preparing to dart away.

The hand that Draco laid on her shoulder shook her with pain, and she bit her lip, directing all her strength towards fighting the urge to burst into tears. It was too late to run: she felt trapped and helpless. What did they want?

"Please, Lili, don't be afraid. Everyone here is your friend. They want to meet you. There are great things in store for you." She guessed that the smile Mister Malfoy gave her was supposed to be comforting, but it only had the effect of causing the blood to drain from her face and sit heavily in the pit of her stomach.

Draco squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to reassure.

She was vaguely aware of the beads of sweat now forming on her brow. It was a strange sensation that overcame her, the pounding heat mixed with a cold that froze even her bones. With every blink she was convinced her eyes would not have the strength to open once more. Draco held her arm, helping pull her up from the chair, visibly shaking. She turned to meet his face, but it was no longer his. It was flickering manically in the firelight, all the ice and cruelty of his father glimmering back at her.

He was leading her towards the doors.

She could feel the hard lump of a sob in her throat, and she held back her breath, aching from the effort of standing. She could barely hear Mister Malfoy's voice over the frantic heartbeat drumming like thunder in her ear.

"You've done much to advance yourself, Lili. You'll go much farther than anyone in your family: farther than you could have dreamed."

He had opened the doors, revealing a gaping room beyond, dim and lit only by torches and a distance fire.

_Oh, please, an earthquake, a fire—anything. Just let something come to stop this_.

Cold air drifted from the room beyond, and its icy hand wrapped around her body, pulling her in.

At first, she thought the room was empty, shadows and patches of light littering the floor and dappling the walls. But slowly, she became aware of others surrounding her, veiled in the soft darkness the torchlight afforded. Directly across from her, a fire raged in the stone hearth, and it seemed to blind and numb her with its brightness. She caught several glimpses of faces, each sliding through firelight and shadow, careful to remain obscured. She heard Draco and Lucius re-entering behind her, the oak doors closing with a heart-rending thud.

The room was still and quiet, and Lili was certain that, somehow, they could all hear the panicked beating of her heart. Her entire body ached, and every muscle creaked with even the slightest movement, echoing in her ears. For a time, there was only the sound of her slow, trembling breath.

And then there came a voice, high and cruel, that rent the silence and twisted her heart with a mere whisper.

"Elizabeth Lee."

From the dark shapes of shadow before her emerged a thin and serpentine figure, tall, with skin stretched taut enough to reveal black veins beneath. His slitted, snake-like eyes burned into her skin, and Lili felt herself sinking, melting, every part of her frozen in terror. He was close enough now for his hissing breath to press hot against her skin.

"I'm pleased to finally meet you."

Lili could not move, drowning in the devouring jaws of his stare.

Her lips, dry, proved the only bit of her yet unfrozen, still within her control. Barely a rasp passed them, though it took all her strength to speak even at a whisper.

"Lord Voldemort."


	12. Si Mian Chu Ge

_Chapter Twelve_: Si Mian Chu Ge

Her tremulous whisper of his name caused a horrible, slitted smile to crack across Voldemort's face. He stood taller, looming over her like a cobra threatening to strike, horrible face hooded in flames.

The silence was choking in her throat and burning in her lungs. Each time she blinked, she prayed everything would disappear, replaced with the safe, silk-draped canopy of her bed. But this was not a dream: Voldemort was circling her with a soft hiss.

"Ssssooo…Miss Elizabeth Lee, is it?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't.

"I must confess I never expected to see a Lee standing before me," he said, continuing his tight ring around her, eyes bent on her face. "What makes you so different?"

She swallowed. _A question_. A question. And this time he expected an answer. Worse yet, she had none. "I—I don't know—sir." She did everything possible not to flinch or look away as his gaunt body and cruel face brushed past her. Part of her dully realized that she had called him 'sir.' She wasn't sure whether to feel disgusted with herself or relieved at her own cunning.

"_I do_." His voice was a horrible, throaty whisper that sent shivers straight through her skin and to the bone. Her heart pounded.

Voldemort circled her a few more times then contented himself resting against the nearby fireplace, spying her coldly through his flashing, snake-like eyes. "Well, as far as I can remember, I don't think a Lee has ever felled a Mudblood at Hogwarts." Lili didn't have to look up to see the smile curling across his stretched skin. "And gotten away with it too, I might add."

Her heart drummed with a heavy _doom. Hermione_.

"I have also heard you possess interesting magical skills—Eastern—and somewhat more unfamiliar to even the most learned at Hogwartsss." He was running a spidery finger along the edge of the fireplace, casting gnarled shadows across the floor. "The Aurors will not being expecting such things. Skills such as yours could be very—_useful_ to me."

_Doom_. Lili felt overcome with panic. She kept her eyes bolted to the floor, watching the shadows loom ever closer to her feet.

"You can do magic without a wand? _Controlled_ magic?" It was an accusatory tone and, looking up from the fire, his eyes flashed violently.

For a moment she felt as if in the heat and the shadow and the flash of his eyes, she might faint. Her throat tightened and the encroaching blackness overcame her for a second. "Well—sort of--sometimes," she stammered, still not daring to meet his gaze. "I—I mean anyone can do it. With the proper training."

He hissed loudly, sliding past the front of the fireplace and settling before it, his thin form blotting out most of what little light dripped into the room. "And you could provide such training, if you were called upon to do so?"

_Doom. Doom_. Blood pounded in her ears, and every muscle felt tense enough to snap. _Stupid answer, damn you. Stupid answer._

Words tumbled wildly in her mind, but none seemed strong enough; none seemed right.

But then, what words could be said? There was either a yes or a no. Anything else was just some embellishment or evasion.

And really, only one answer would be accepted: the other was too horrifying to say. She heard herself swallow.

"I—I don't know." Her voice shook, and she found it impossible to steady. "My—own magic is not—fully developed, and teaching _wuzhang_ is really quite diff—"

"Ahh, false modesty." He spit the words out as if they were poison on his tongue. "You have the skillsss…" With a long hiss he grabbed her chin quite suddenly, pulling her face up towards his and locking with her eyes. "I can see it in you."

Once again she felt a wave of weakness wash over her, and, in the heat of the fire, her stomach seemed close to retching. His hands were frozen across her face, her trembling pulse throbbing between his fingers. He could clearly feel the racing of her heart, thin lips twisting up into a taut sneer. "There's no need to be nervous, child. Here, among us, you will be appreciated for who you are—for your talents. This is the circle of acceptance." He swept his free hand around loosely, but kept a firm grip on her. "We offer you the opportunity to exercise those talents to help bring about the greatest change in wizarding history." His eyes were burning now, and, though he took away his hand, his gaze held her with even greater ferocity. Every part of her felt naked before him, and she was unsure how much longer she could keep from vomiting or passing out.

Behind her Lucius Malfoy shifted his weight across his feet, and Jeremiah Avery cleared his throat quietly.

But, in the moment, she felt it was only Voldemort and herself, eyes locked and her heart drumming so loudly it drowned out every sound save the rough hissing of the Dark Lord's breath. _Doom. Doom._

"Missssss Lee." Lili thought for a manic and split second of Professor Snape and the way he said her name, the syllables all draped in self-effacing silk. Voldemort's voice was shrill and coarse. "Draco and Lucius Malfoy have asked that you be offered a position in my service. I am more than eager to offer it." He leaned in even closer, slit nostrils flaring and thinning with deep, wheezing breath. "Join us, Miss Lee. You belong in this circle…"

Something rose in her throat, but she was too afraid to splutter or cough. She was too afraid, even, to faint. Voldemort's breath was hot on her face and his serpentine eyes flashed at her with a cold question.

_Doom, doom, doom_. It was the question she had feared the most. She looked about her, searching for Snape, finding him, of course, absent. Only cold, pale and flame-drenched faces stared back, unfamiliar and examining, seeming to loom over her like shadowy and flickering sentinels. She spied the door longingly, but it was squared distant between the shoulders of the two Malfoys. She searched Draco's eyes but found the same cold leering she had come to associate with his father.

She was _si mian chu ge_—surrounded by enemies on all sides. Her knees were shaking, close to giving way, and her stomach roiled so fiercely she began to swoon with the nausea. She was painfully aware that her body was shaking under the heat and weight of the fear, and her heart seemed ready to explode from her chest. She moved her tongue up and down in her dry mouth, trying to form some words to reply, but found that nothing was brave enough to emerge.

His hand was on her face again, this time with such icy force that it seemed almost to burn. He turned her eyes to his once more. "Miss Lee—will you join us?"

Her world was spinning now, her stomach turning, twisting. Everything seemed to dissolve into those horrible, red eyes and, soon, it was all she could see or feel. _Will you join us_—He hissed the last syllable and the static seemed to burst her already fragile heart.

_Snape_. She needed him here—she needed to know what to do. She was too afraid. She didn't want to be the Queen of Slytherin anymore…_What should I do?_

Her lips were moving now trying to form words. The flashing of his eyes had swallowed her, and she felt herself struggling, drowning in the firelight and the shadow and the hissing, hot static of his breath…

_What should I do?_

No answer came, only that fierce sea of red. She felt the burning of tears behind her eyes. He wasn't there. He couldn't be there. She was alone—and there was only one answer.

The word barely passed her lips, barely lasted for a second in the stiff, crushing weight of the air.

"Yes."

Voldemort's thin-lipped mouth curled up like smoke, and his eyes widened, fingers falling down from her face in triumph. "You have made the best decision of your life, Miss Lee. This will change the course of your future, as it will change the face of the world." When he lifted his gaze from her, she felt like a puppet who, strings cut, could do nothing more than collapse to the ground. The Dark Lord's voice seemed oddly distant now as he addressed the others, asking them to accept Lili into the fold, spitting forth many strong words about the rewards for those who would join him and aid in his return to power.

Lili was folded over herself, gasping for breath and sanity, her knees digging into the hard wood floor. She dropped her head down, wondering if she would be able to hold in her nausea much longer. Even in the overwhelming heat of the room, goose bumps pricked across her skin.

It was over now. Her life was over. She had been so foolish—rushing headlong into Slytherin. She thought back to her father. Why hadn't she listened? What had made her think—

And then there was Snape. He, too, had tried to warn her. And what had she done? Gone on cavorting about with Malfoy. And where did it get her?

The answer: here, hunched over herself on the floor, at the feet of Voldemort and a ruined future.

She was too numb to think fully about what lay before her.

The thick air once more heaved into a silence, and she felt the heavy look of the Dark Lord on her neck. She raised her eyes to meet him--the feeling of looking up from a tomb.

"Miss Lee."

Tears were threatening, and she was unsure how long she'd have the strength to hold them back. They burned her eyes, and Voldemort watched her there, lips pressed tight and white, cheeks flushed with heat. He smiled. "Miss Lee—kiss the hem of my robe and rise, one of my loyal and most trusted—a Death Eater." He put one leg forward, the end of his robes billowing out towards her. A simple, red-threaded hemline glared forward, falling to the hard, wood floor with a rustle that seemed loud enough to burst her ears.

A tiny part of her, settled somewhere deep in her gut, remained strong enough to object fiercely, demanding that she stand, firm, and refuse, walk out—no, storm out--and never look back. Kiss the hem of his robe? _Absurd, demeaning and horrible_. Saying yes had been one nightmare—this was too much.

And yet her body sank towards the floor, exhausted, and knowing of no other choice. Perhaps a Gryffindor would have had the strength to stand—she had none left. The cloth brushed rough and hot against her lips.

She felt her stomach churn and, suddenly, she knew she would be able to hold back no longer.

With what little energy she could muster she managed to crawl past him and towards the fireplace. She vomited, the flames lashing up towards her face. Her body, weak, slumped against the wall, still rasping for breath.

In the heat of the fire, she remembered the night she sat in the Slytherin common room, imagining herself wreathed in fire, flames crawling over her skin. Once again, this seemed a welcome escape.

But, she reminded herself, there was no escape now. She had worked herself into this place. She had none but herself to blame.

It was a long while before she could turn to face him again—him and the others about him. They all seemed vaguely surprised, small pouts of indignation tickling their lips. She swallowed hard and met Voldemort's eyes as deferentially as she could. "I—I'm sorry. I think I might be ill."

His gaze remained unconvinced.

Painfully, her heart almost refusing to beat, she knelt down once more and kissed the hem of his garment again. Her tears dropped down on the robe's end, soaking into the cloth like the blooming of a black flower. She prayed for deafness to shield her from what she was about to say. "Thank you, my Lord. I am honored and humbled." Her stomach objected again, but had already been emptied.

When she rose, the frowns and disapproving sneers were gone. Her empty stomach turned and turned, but she was resolved. She wiped the tears from beneath her eyes, and tried, with a wrenching pain, to stand up to her full height.

"Welcome to the circle, Miss Lee." Voldemort's voice had changed. It was deeper, slower, and, she thought, more kingly. Across the room, Lili saw Draco and the tall woman, Junia, part quietly. She gritted her teeth, refusing the tears.

"There is but one task left for you," Voldemort continued, walking towards her and laying a spidery-fingered hand on her shoulder. Her muscles strained to prevent a shudder. "You will take the Dark Mark."

Her heart jumped, her lungs collapsing from the weight of the words. She was not certain exactly what this mark was, but she had heard enough, through Slytherin gossip, to guess at the pain. She began to tremble once again and gave up any pretense that she was not utterly terrified.

The circle of Death Eaters had closed in, and Draco and his father were stepping towards her. In the raging firelight, the two pale Malfoys shone like ghosts.

_Doom, doom_ came the drumming of her heart again. She looked up at Draco, pleading, but he would not meet her eyes. He seemed only to follow his father's lead, taking hold of one of Lili's arms tightly, and moving her towards the cold, stone end of the fireplace.

The tears burned once more, despite any efforts to stop them. The two Malfoys were holding her hard against the fireplace, flames licking behind her legs. Eyes surrounded her, all reflecting the orange and red, pale imitations of their master's.

He pulled his wand from his robes and held the tip of it in the raging fire.

"Elizabeth Lee." The Dark Lord's voice was strong, but she could barely make out the words over the crackling of the fire and the panicked beating of her own heart. She smelt the thick smoke of cinders behind her as Voldemort removed his wand and held it up, glowing, before his face.

"You take now the Mark of Lord Voldemort as a pledge of your loyalty." He moved the wand closer to her skin.

_Doom, doom_. Flickering flames caused the shadow of his wand to slide across her face. Blinking, she felt she might not be able to escape the darkness.

"Taking this Mark, you are my servant and my trusted soldier."

She was shaking so hard that both Draco and Lucius tightened their grips, pushing her firmly against the stone.

"The pain you endure will be a testament to your strength and the strength of our cause."

Her lips parted, weak, trying to cry out, but her voice was gone, throat squeezed close in terror. Her lungs burned, weighed heavy with smoke. For a moment, she felt everything slipping away. Voldemort's voice drew her back.

"With this Mark, you are bound to me and to my future."

The end of his wand was near the skin of her left forearm now, and she could feel heat radiating from its tip and straight through her. She was gasping for what breath she could find in the heavy, scorching air.

"With this Mark, you, Elizabeth Lee, are a Death Eater." The wand moved closer to her arm.

Then, oddly, she felt Draco's grip tighten, his hands shaking. She forced her neck to turn, meeting his down-turned face. He did not look up at her but kept his pale eyes riveted on her arm, his own face flushed with fear. He was clearly terrified, lips pressed tight together, cold, strong hands trembling around her upper arm. It was enough to distract Lili for a split second from her own terror. He seemed, suddenly, unlike his father: very young, very innocent, and very scared.

And then the pain. A horrible, searing pain that radiated down her bones and wracked her entire body with fierce fire. She was vaguely aware of struggling against the two holding her, but her mind itself had melted away, giving over only to the desperate wish for the pain to stop. She opened her mouth once again to scream, and this time was successful, though she was unable to hear her own shrieking over the jarring sizzle of her own flesh. Her back arched, muscles stretched, aching as if to break. Time dripped away, and the pain seemed to freeze into an eternity. Her voice ran out, choked by the burning muscles which strangled her lungs in desperation. _Please, make the pain stop—make it stop—_Along her arm the skin cracked and blistered and seemed to peel away in a heavy black shape. Her lips continued to move though she could not speak. She mouthed frantically, silently, writhing under the cold grips of the Malfoys.

_Please—stop—no—_she gave one last jerk of a struggle but was held tight—_please--_

And she felt her body grow too weak to hold on. Her mind winked in and out of darkness, the pain seeming to fade.

_Please—_. Her mouth formed the silent words in gasps, slipping away. _Snape_.

The Malfoys let go of her arms, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.


	13. Two Marks

_Chapter Thirteen:_ Two Marks

Nightmares filled those hours of darkness, and still, even asleep, she felt a burning surge through her body, flames licking up, tearing at her skin. In her fevered sleep, she twisted and moaned, and, on several occasions, whispered or mouthed the names of the specters haunting her dreams. Snape.

When she woke, the sun was stabbing at her eyes from a distant window. Artibius was curled up beside her under the sheets, his furry muzzle snuggled against her chest. As she stirred, he popped his head gingerly out, looking at her worried over his horned nose. He had no idea what had happened, but seemed to understand that it had been something exceedingly grave.

She sat up slightly, skin sliding through the sheets, slick with sweat. She rolled her swollen tongue through her dry mouth, and felt her muscles creak and groan as she moved. Artibius scurried up her, pushing at her cheek carefully, clicking with a thousand questions. Still too tired to offer a smile, she reached up to pet him.

Pain shot through her arm as she lifted it, dull and burning, and she jerked, causing Artibius to tumble off her and to the bed.

It came back to her in a violent wave of sorrow. _It hadn't been a dream_. It was real—horribly, heart-rendingly real. In a panic she pulled the robe sleeve of her left forearm up and eyed the pale, pink skin in terror.

There was no mark, and nothing but her unmarred flesh stared back at her.

But still, she could not fool herself. She could feel it like a weight on her arm. There, beneath her skin, it was hidden like a disease, waiting for something to jar it back to life. Remembering the burning and the static of sizzling flesh, she shuddered, fingering the now pristine area gingerly. _I'm one of them. I've lost. I've lost everything._

Tears boiled, burning in her eyes, and, as if in habit, she pulled her knees up to her chest and held them there, cradled, body wracked with trembling sobs.

Her head reeled under the full weight of this. What could she do? She was a Death Eater--she didn't even know what that really meant. And what would she say when Voldemort called on her? What would she do when she was asked to kill? Her heart skipped a beat. She had been too great a coward to refuse him in their first encounter: would she be able to defy his wishes in a second? Could she stand strong even if it meant her own life? A weight settled heavy in her stomach, and she felt as if, once again, she might faint. It was simply too much to feel, too much to fear all at once.

Artibius nudged at the side of her neck once more, clicking consolingly.

"Oh, Artibius," she managed through heavy sobs. "I've been so stupid. I've been so stupid and look where I am. Look what they've burned into my skin!" She wrung at her arm madly, as if, somehow, she hoped to wipe herself clean.

The black bat looked between Lili's tear-streaked face and her arm and seemed to understand some part of it. He pushed himself into the arc between her neck and shoulder and rested, silent and frowning.

She sat for a long time, drifting in and out of tears, crushed by the weight of things now beyond her control. Filled with the numb sensation of hopelessness, she did the only thing she could think to do; she sank back down to the bed, limp and defeated. She would steal a bit more sleep, where, though haunted, she didn't have to face reality.

Sliding her hand under the pillow, her fingers discovered the tattered and rough pages of _Notes_. Her heart wrenched, but she pulled it out just the same, letting the leafs drift through her fingertips, praying for the words to distract her from the plague of thought.

They did not distract her, but rang in her mind with a thundering knell. She saw, in the yellowed pages that smelled of Snape's dungeons, a picture of her future laid bare, sketched out before her in the charcoal of black and white words.

_Real life oppressed me. I was angry at myself. I stood before her crushed, humiliated, abominably ashamed._

_It was as if the skin had been stripped away from my body so that even wafts of air caused pain._

Reading this, her body shivered once more, remembering the pain still hot on her skin.

She read on, in gasps.

_It was as if it all had to be so. . "I am alone, and they are everyone." They won't let me…I can't be…good._

The book's smell drifted up and, in a second, she knew what she had to do.

She sprang up from the bed, ignoring the stiff muscles that protested and the sweat which still permeated every inch of her skin. She pulled a quill from her wardrobe, and, slipping on the shoes near her bed, dashed towards the door. She would need some paper—perhaps from the library...

She knew he had told her not to send him any more letters. It wasn't safe.

The frown that now felt set permanently on her lips deepened. The word "safe" no longer seemed to make sense to her. If anything worse could happen, her mind was still too exhausted to conceive of it.

She had just torn the door open and was barreling into the hall when she ran, headlong, into the tall and set figure of Lucius Malfoy. He was standing just outside her door, chin cradled in his hand, talking concernedly with the houself Geeti.

She gasped but was too scared to realize it.

"Ahh, you're awake," he looked down at her wide-eyes with a strange mixture of concern and surprise. "We've been worried about you."

She felt the quill quivering in one hand, the other busy fiddling with the loose cloth of her robes. This had been the last thing in the world she wanted—what would she tell him? Would he ask her where she was going? Would he mention—the Mark?

"You've been out for almost a day and a half now," Malfoy continued, stretching himself taller. "Geeti and I were just discussing whether or not to send for a doctor. You've been running a high fever." He reached out and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder—a thoroughly Malfoy attempt at gentle concern.

The touch seemed to burn her skin in an uncomfortably familiar way. She swallowed, feeling a thick lump of fear in her throat. "No, I'll be fine. I knew I was getting ill, but I think the fever has broken." She felt at her forehead trying to back up the claim as best she could.

Geeti seemed unconvinced and tugged hard at Lili's hand, lowering the girl's body enough for the short houself to feel as well. "Miss is still warm, but not so bad. Miss should get back in bed, get more rest. Should be better soon."

No, she thought to herself, in panic. _Not back in bed_. Writing to Snape was the only thing keeping her from utter hopelessness: she needed it to stave off the crushing fear. "No, really, I think I'll be fine. I was just going to have lie down in the library, get some reading done instead of just lying about useless in bed." She was practically pleading and making no attempt to hide her desperation.

A loud tutting noise escaped Malfoy's pursed lips, and he took his hand from her shoulder with a wan grin. "You're academic tenacity is quite admirable, Lili, but you're still ill. Get back in bed, and Geeti will bring you up some lunch. We don't want to send you back to Hogwarts in worse condition than when you left."

_Too late_, Lili thought bitterly. Her heart sank down into her stomach, and, for a moment, she entertained the notion of arguing. But she suddenly felt very tired, and conceded to the defeat. Besides, it wouldn't do to quarrel with Malfoy mere hours after becoming a Death Eater. Who knew the consequences for such dissention now?

This thought alone made her feel weary in every bone, and, suddenly, going to sleep again and letting it all disappear for a bit longer sounded ideal. She turned back to the door and gripped the knob with a weak-fingered hand.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

She looked back at him over her shoulder. Her muscles ached.

"You have a visitor." Lili puzzled at the flat-lipped frown that crossed Malfoy's face as he said this. "Professor Snape has been waiting in the library for a few hours now. Apparently he heard you were ill."

She did her best not to let on that her heart had just threatened to jump up her throat and out her mouth. "Professor Snape?" The words barely seemed real.

Malfoy nodded, scowling. "Yes. You should feel honored. In all my years of acquaintance with him, I don't believe I've ever known him to give a damn about anyone." His pale eyes glared down at her over his nose, colorless and cold. "You must have really impressed him." This was clearly more an accusation than genuine conjecture.

Lili's mind was swirling with fears and doubts, but there remained enough Slytherin sensibility in her to understand the questioning and insinuation. _Welcome to the games_, she thought, doing her best to muster the forces in her head. _Play it the way you would have back at Hogwarts. Play it the way you did when Millicent made lewd comments about your late hours in the Dungeons…_

She pushed out a heavy sigh. "He's probably just afraid he'll lose the only assistant who can stand him." She quickly concocted a face that was half annoyed and half weary.

Malfoy nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Well, you needn't meet him in there. I'll send him into your room. Geeti will bring up your lunch in a bit."

For a moment the two of them watched each other. Lili stared back at him as he examined her reaction, keenly, hoping to detect even the slightest quaver.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I think I'd rather restrict our conversation to the library." She stood up straight, heart pounding wildly. _What was Malfoy thinking?_ Surely he couldn't think—it was absurd and…She shivered. "I'm sure we don't have much to say to one another anyway." She wondered vaguely if she was overdoing it, trying to keep her face as flat and unreadable as Malfoy's.

_You're first serious bluff, Lili._ The thought made her stomach turn. _But it won't be your last._

For the moment, she seemed to have won the stand-off. Malfoy pulled in a deep breath, and forced a lop-sided smile. "Very well. Geeti will bring you some pillows and a blanket and you can rest on the sofa for the time." He shot the houself a look, but it proved unnecessary as she had already scurried off to do this.

He turned his eyes back up to her, and she realized quite suddenly that, for the first time since her arrival on Malfoy Manor, he was sizing her up –no longer as a prospect, but as both a comrade and a _threat_. He feared her ambition, her prospects to climb far and fast. The idea gave her enough strength to meet his gaze squarely and brush past him towards the library door.

She jumped, finding his touch once more on her shoulder.

He was standing straight, looking down on her with piercing, severe eyes. "Lili—let me give you a bit of advice."

She felt her new found strength trickle away.

Malfoy paused a moment, his steel eyes sliding back and forth across her face as he tried to find words. "Professor Snape—" But he stopped, pulling his hand from her shoulder and lacing it with his other.

The silence of the hallway seemed to ring cold in her ears.

"Just be careful to whom you tell certain things," he said, at some length, pursing his lips and trying to smile in what she assumed he thought a fatherly way. "I'm sure I needn't tell you that some people just aren't worth trusting."

Lili watched the jagged edges of his smile with a deep shudder. _No_, she thought, _you don't need to tell me that._ She reached out and took the door handle with a rough turn. _I've found that out the hard way._

The light in the library was, as always, more subdued than elsewhere in the Manor. The tall bookshelves cast long, comforting brown shadows across the floor, and Lili scurried under them, waiting for the door to shut behind her.

There was a light _click_, and she felt her muscles sigh and unwind.

It took her several moments to crawl out of the shadows, taking small and quiet steps towards the couch where Geeti was busy stretching out sheets and fluffing pillows. The room seemed unnaturally warm, and she wondered if it was a lingering bit of fever or the violent churning of her insides that caused beads of sweat to rise under the bends of her knees.

He was standing before the only window in the library, back towards her, silhouetted against a sun that was beating fierce enough about him to obscure all but the darkness of his form. He gave no sign of hearing her enter or of concern over the houself flipping down a light quilt on the sofa just behind him.

Lili felt a squeezing at her heart. _He doesn't know_.

He knew she was ill, no more. How could she tell him? Could she yet find the words? And even if she could, what in the world would he say? Her eyes flicked over him, a shadow stretched loose and thin across a plane of shining sun. If he couldn't help her, she thought, feeling tears threatening at the backs of her eyes, there'd be no one who could.

"Miss Lee."

The voice was jarring, but not severe. It was low; so low it seemed to blend in with the gentle buzz of heated air in the room about her. She was shaken by a strange mixture of relief and anxiety. "Pro-fessor Snape."

_How on Earth can I tell him?_ Her legs wobbled and she steadied herself on the sofa, taking a seat and letting her eyes dart perfunctorily to Geeti who was straightening the quilt at the opposite end.

Snape didn't move but shifted his weight, letting sunlight bounce and stab past him manically. "You seem to be feeling better."

"Yes. I think my fever's broken." At the moment, actually, her stomach was roiling and her entire body had begun to perspire again. "How did you hear I was ill?"

His head seemed to sink slightly, but he remained facing away. "Word gets around."

She considered this for a moment, unable to understand.

He offered no further explanation, and they sat again in silence. The room seemed to shimmer with heat, and she wished with all her heart he'd say something. She tried several times to speak, but, though her lips opened and her breath came forth, she simply wasn't sure what to say. She fiddled with the ends of the sheets and resigned herself to the awkward quiet. She wasn't even sure what to think herself—how could she begin to explain anything to him?

Geeti scurried up beside her, still looking worried. "Miss is still quite sick. She should be resting. As soon as Master leaves, must get back in bed. I will bring you some lunch in a while."

"Thank you, Geeti," she said, trying to force a smile at the overly concerned houself. "You really don't need to make such a fuss." Geeti seemed to disapprove of the effort Lili was putting into the politeness, but scampered off without a word.

There was another _click_, but this time it was Snape who seemed to relax. He turned from the window, his skin completely bleached in the light. He pulled his wand from his robes and, waving it, muttered a charm so quietly that Lili couldn't place it. "Sound-proof charm," he explained, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse.

Then his face met hers. She felt her throat go dry.

His gaze was dark, as always, but this darkness was a storm, a torrent of something so black that even the intense sunlight seemed unable to penetrate it. His eyes were rimmed in red and met hers with a shame so deep, she felt her own eyes burning with tears. His thin lips were pale and pushed tight together. He had been crying.

"You know."

He was standing awkwardly, unsure how to move or act. He seemed to want at first to wipe his eyes and turn away but instead faced her full on and took several deep breaths. He spoke slow, painstakingly composed. "Yes. I know." Flat and quiet.

And, despite every effort on her part not to, Lili burst into sobs, pulling her knees up to her chest and rocking slowly. Somehow, hearing him say this, she felt quite abruptly how true it was. It had happened: she was irrevocably one of _them_. And now, Snape seemed incredibly distant, and she was left alone with the full weight of it pressing the breath and the tears from her in a monstrous fit of sobbing.

Snape stood, watching her. He made no attempt at comfort.

She was unsure how long she sat there, curled up against herself, crying. She wanted to forget that he was standing right there and turn over into sleep, but she couldn't. He said nothing and didn't move, looming over the back of the couch like a gaunt and stony sentinel. What could he be thinking? Was he as disgusted with her as she was?

Slowly, the tears refused to keep coming, and she merely remained bent and rocking against the pain.

"Lili." He said this on a weak, exhaling breath, but it still seemed to cut through her skin with a shameful sting.

She refused to raise her swollen eyes to his, and remained silent.

"Lili—" His voice was a bit louder this time. "I'm sorry."

By some miracle, this gave rise to even more tears, though her body was now far too exhausted to sob. She jerked her shrink-wrapped eyes to his in shock. "Sorry? What are _you_ sorry for? You haven't done anything! It's my stupid fault. I should have listened to you. I never should have come here, and I _certainly_ never should have said--" The word choked in her throat, and she felt unable to hold Snape's eyes any longer.

Snape bit at his tongue, visibly trying to keep himself composed. "But you did. And you had no other choice." He lifted a hand and, in a stiff and graceless motion, laid it on the back of the sofa. "The question now is, what to do about it."

It was the last thing in the world she had expected to hear. She had imagined he would either tell her off or try in some way to comfort her. She pulled her knees from her chest slightly and looked up at him, doing her best to wipe the tears from her eyes. He was standing, gaze on her, his own swollen eyes meeting hers without pity but with a great swell of understanding. And suddenly she realized that it was that understanding she had craved—that she had needed. He was not looking at her as if she was some lost and tragic case. Slowly, she found herself able to sit up, breathing in deep and full. "Yes. You're right." And he was. She hadn't allowed herself to lie about crying when she was sorted into Slytherin: and to do so now would be twice as foolish. She pushed the remainder of the sorrow to the side and pulled up her left sleeve, thrusting it towards him.

He recoiled at first, as if he had not expected her to be so forthright. But slowly, gingerly, he reached his thin fingers forward, wrapping them about her slender arm lightly. His touch was cold on her hot skin. He pressed the spot he knew the Mark would be. She jumped at a sudden bone-deep pain.

He swallowed deeply. "It won't be sore like that for long. In a few days, you could forget it was there." He snorted.

She watched his lips as his dark eyes slid over the skin of her arm. They parted slightly, pulling in air in a tragic hiss. It was the way a veteran looks at the wounds of scarred and jittery private. Hand shaking, she reached out towards him, laying a gentle hand on his left forearm. She met his eyes questioningly.

For a second he looked back at her, wide-eyed, dismayed, and, after a moment, drew away, cradling his own arm, disgusted.

Her hands were trembling. "You—you're—" Her voice shook almost as fiercely. "You have the Mark, don't you?" It was the only way she could bring herself to ask.

He didn't answer, but she no longer needed one. That was the darkness in his eyes, it was the violent jutting of his cheek bones and his thin and frail body. It was every bit of hate and anger that dripped from his tongue: and it was every bit of emotion he was trying so desperately to hold back. He turned away again.

The silence that followed was the most uncomfortable Lili had ever endured. It was made even more difficult by the quiet sound of swallowing and gasping breath that echoed off the ceiling. The sound wrung her heart in a way that seemed unbearable.

She reached out again, trying to lay her hand on his arm, but he stepped away.

"Pro-professor, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No," he barked, in a voice that seemed entirely strong and weak at once. "No, it's true. And you have a right to know that. I—At a very young age… And it is a dark thing, a dark life." He looked over his shoulder at her, a glance free, now, of tears. "And you should not have to know it." His eyes were now filled with the cold disgust she had always associated with him.

It was only now she realized that disgust was for himself and no one else.

She pressed her lips together and, taking a deep, hot breath, mustered all her composure. "I—I think I have to leave England."

"What?"

Another breath. "I have to leave. I'm going to go back to China and stay with some of my friends there. I can't afford to stay here anymore."

His eyes closed, brow furling in pain. "Lili—You can't."

"No," she insisted, feeling the words tumbling out desperately. "I have to. If I stay here, he'll ask me to kill someone. Or to do something horrible. I'm not that person, and I refuse to be. I have to leave Hogwarts, and I can't come back."

"No, I mean you can't," he sighed, wilting onto the sofa back. "You can't run from him. It doesn't matter where you go: with that Mark, he'll always be able to find you, eventually. People have run before—none have survived. Once you've entered into his service, there's little chance that even thousands of miles can help you hide."

She felt the tears stinging once again, but refused to give into them. "Then—what—" She swallowed deliberately. "What can I—do?"

He turned away from her and did not speak.

"It's that hopeless, then?" A pain deep in her bones seemed to have been resurrected. Her skin burned hot. "I mean…" She fell quiet, then, remembering, whispered, "_They won't let me…I can't be…good."_

Snape snorted again, keeping his back to her and his face turned towards the blinding sunlight.

"Is that—how your life has been?" she asked, tremulous and terribly afraid of the answer. "Is that how you feel about your past?" Added, silent; _Is that the fate that lies before me?_

The question seemed to make Snape cringe, and, in the sunlight, he shrunk like a wilting flower. "My life, Miss Lee, does not matter."

She could imagine his face, the way it had met hers so often in the Dungeons, drawn taut in shame and self-loathing. "Professor—I—I think it matters a lot." She kept talking, quickly, before she had time to think better of it. "I mean, you've really—been very—helpful to me and—"

"Some help," he said, turning violently, but still keeping his back towards her. "I should have _known_; I should have seen this coming. I should never have left you here on New Year's Eve." His hands were tight at his sides, gaze pointed hard at the ground. "_I_ of all people should have known not to leave you to these—these jackals."

She could hear sorrow rising in his throat and reached out desperately trying to curb it. "No—Professor, it's—"

He turned towards her, eyes slamming her with such ferocity that she fell off. "No, Miss Lee, please." He carefully side-stepped her hand, moving closer. "I should have seen this coming. But I didn't—" He swallowed. "And for that I'm sorry."

Tears finally won over and bubbled in her eyes. She shook her head. "No, Professor, it's my fault, please." The words emerged almost as whispers.

He seemed not to hear her. "But please, believe me. I will do anything I can to get you out of this. _Anything_."

There was a veracity in his eyes that caused her, immediately, to stop crying. His gaze was at once boring into and cradling her. He meant it. He was going to help her. She was overcome with the urge to reach out and embrace him—to hold him and be held. She could imagine his arms around her, strong and comforting, like a father's.

But she merely remained, rooted in her seat, staring back at him, breath shaking in her lungs. "Th-thank you." It was a weak and impossible way to express her gratitude, but she knew of nothing else he would accept.

"Miss' lunch is ready," Geeti called, the door bursting open and room suddenly flooding with the smell of hot meats and spices.

Snape, looking surprised and embarrassed, pulled his wand out and, hiding it behind the sofa, muttered an end to the sound-proof charm.

"Oh, thank you, Geeti," Lili barely managed, hoping no tears remained on her face. "Just lay it down over here."

"Actually, I was just leaving," Snape said, his voice, to Lili's amazement, back to its normal calculated indifference. "Why don't you take Miss Lee and her lunch back to her room. And be certain she gets her rest."

Geeti looked up at Snape, curious and distrustful, but nodded all the same.

Lili stood, allowing the houself to bundle up all the sheets and pillows. She met Snape's eyes.

She found them back to normal as well, though still somewhat swollen about the edges. He looked at her, and, for only a split second, let his mask slip, revealing once more a warm and strong rush of understanding. She allowed herself to give him only a slight and quick smile in return.

"Thank you for your concern, Professor," she said, doing her best to drench her voice in apathy and mock-politeness. "I suppose I'll see you in four days."

Snape nodded, pulling on a cloak he had draped across a short bookshelf, and looking at her with only a brief and cool smirk. "Yes, and remember those potions I told you to look over. I expect you to know them at the start of term."

She nodded.

"And let me know if you have any questions or problems. Through Artibius."

Understanding, she nodded again. Apparently, he too agreed that "safety" could perhaps be gambled somewhat in the situation.

Snape turned and, walking out the door, asked the houself, in a tone far more commanding than Lili had thought possible from him, "Is Mister Malfoy available? I need to speak with him."

Lili did not hear the response as, once again, the door _clicked_ shut.

And once again she was left alone.

_At least this time, _she told herself, with a sigh, _you're strong enough to remain standing_. She walked quickly out of the library, careful not to let her eyes go seeking for Snape's distant figure or any false hopes.


	14. Same Bed Different Dreams

_Chapter Fourteen:_ Same Bed, Different Dreams

Eventually --though it seemed an eternity—Malfoy Manor melted away into the cloudy sky, and the scenery flying past her window transformed into nothing more than rolling hills, colorless and dull like static. Seeing the imposing black fortress disappear, her muscles loosened slightly through a deep but guarded breath.

She had spent the last four days wound tightly within herself, waiting. At every moment expecting some disaster. Every time her bedroom door opened, she knew it must be Malfoy. Or worse.

But the last days of her stay had passed quietly, filled with textbooks and meals taken in her bedroom, alone. Though she had long recovered from her illness, she continued to feign weakness and nausea, and, soon, the Malfoys stopped asking her to come down for dinner and left her in the care of the houselves. She did indeed feel weak, but it was not from sickness. Her sleep had been scarce, and when she could manage to nod off, horrible specters filled every corner of her dreams. Thin, dark circles were beginning to taint the pale skin beneath her eyes, and she wondered, vaguely, if this was how Professor Snape's shadow-lined gaze had begun. The thought was none too pleasant, and she pulled her cloak closer to herself, trying to smother the distasteful idea in warmth. At Hogwarts, she told herself resolutely, she'd teach herself to make Dreamless Sleep potions. _Problem solved_. Above all, she wasn't going to let herself get lost in self-pity again. She was going back to Hogwarts, and she would be unreachable there. She would have several months to figure things out; self-pity was only a waste of valuable time.

A long-fingered hand touched the sensitive crook of her left elbow. She jumped slightly.

"Are you cold?" Draco was reaching across the seat, looking at her through the gray glass of his eyes. "I can ask the driver to turn up the heat if you like."

She forced a smile, pulling her arm back cautiously. "No, no. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look a little pale," he pressed, leaning back towards his half of the car, flat-lipped. "Are you feeling alright?"

His voice was slow, concerned; something different than in all their time at Malfoy Manor. She wondered if being around his father was like some sort of a spell; now he seemed like the Draco she had met that day in Potions class, like the Draco who had come to comfort her in the Slytherin common room after the letter from her father. Her forced smile melted into a smaller, genuine one. "No, I'm fine, really. I'm actually feeling better. I think I'm getting over my illness." _An illness called Malfoy Manor_, she thought to herself. Her smile faded.

"That's good to hear." He had turned back to his own window and was resting his head on his hand, elbow propped somewhat precariously on the door's armrest.

She watched him out the corner of her eye for a long while, trying to decide what to think. Part of her still wondered if he was— she bit her lip--_salvageable._ She had seen so many of his faces she was given to wonder which was genuine; --if _any_ of them was genuine. She wished she could ask him—just _ask_.

But that wasn't the Slytherin way. And it certainly wasn't the way for a Death Eater; --especially a reluctant one. Her gaze floated back to the scenery that rolled past her window, drenched in the overcast gray of the sky. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the gentle rumble of the road beneath the tires, a heavy feeling turning in her stomach.

"Lili."

She lifted her eyelids in surprise. His voice was all but a whisper. "Yes?"

His face met hers, lips pressed tight together, two thin, pink lines. "Um—is your arm still…sore?"

The heaviness in her stomach tumbled over itself. She had never expected him to—_talk_ about it. It felt to weighty and distasteful to mention in such conversation. "Um…no. It's feeling better." She swallowed, making a quick decision. "What about yours?"

His brow furled. "What do you mean? I've had the Mark for ages."

"You—you have?" Her heart gave one heavy thump, then sank deep into her stomach.

He nodded solemnly. "Yes. My father had it put on me when I was a child. As a symbol of our family's undying loyalty to—" He paused a split second before whispering the name. "Lord Voldemort."

She realized quite suddenly that he too was afraid to say the name. That at least was a small bit of hope. "You were—a child?"

"Eight." She looked down and saw him fingering the familiar spot on his left forearm subconsciously.

She couldn't suppress a shudder. He had been so young, and the pain—all for something he couldn't possibly have understood. Deep, aching pity forced her to reach out and touch his arm gently.

He shied away from the touch, eyes sunk heavily on the seat beside him. "I—I talked to my father. He says it's—" He stopped, turning his eyes back towards the window for a moment, then letting them sink once again to the seat. "He says it's not such a good idea for us to—you know—"

She searched his pained face questioningly. "To—to what?"

"To keep—seeing each other. Um, going out. And stuff." He was unable or unwilling to meet her eyes.

Her throat went suddenly dry. Malfoy didn't trust her. He'd seen through the act. He knew she'd been faking and now— "Why?" she asked frantically. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

His head jerked up, wide-eyed and shaking vehemently. "Oh, no, no. It's not that. It's just…Father says it's not a good idea for two—for two people _like us_—" By his strained gaze she was able to fill in the words. _Death Eaters_. "People like us shouldn't make alliances with each other. We should keep our loyalties simple. And when two people are both—er, in the same business—it's too dangerous."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

He swallowed. "I—I'm not sure I do either," he confessed, sitting back against the seat, looking defeated. "But he explained it to me this way. If, say, we were out on a—" he paused. "If we were out doing something, you know—" He gave her a deliberate look. She nodded. "And, it came down to it, I'd be too worried about you getting killed. I might not make decisions that were—in the best interests of—"

"Lord Voldemort." The name stung every inch of her tongue.

Draco nodded, running a hand through his white-gold hair. "He said that's why he never wanted Mom to get involved. It's best to keep romance and business separate." He looked into her eyes and forced a tight smile. Somehow it seemed sadder than if he had simply frowned. "I'm sorry."

She sat back, leaning lightly against the car door, armrest jutting uncomfortably into her side. "No, no. It's okay. I mean—he's probably right." The odd thing was, Lili suddenly realized, it _wasn't_ okay. Some part of her would greatly miss Draco; but that wasn't it. It was the coldness, the harsh, calculated dismissal of emotion that was expected of them. They would be forced to forget any fondness, any love or loyalty in place of the bare-bones friendship she had seen play out so flatly at Malfoy Manor.

But, what was more, though this was obviously causing Draco more pain than he wanted to let on, he accepted it because he knew he must. She began, slowly, to appreciate the horrible gravity of Draco's life: Malfoy Manor had almost driven her to madness and despair in a mere two weeks. Draco had _lived_ it.

Her heart was aching, and she realized that her hands were trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry," Draco repeated, leaning closer towards her. "I—I really wish it could be different. But—in the end my father said you'd be too valuable an asset to the Dark Lord, and that I—I had to give you up. You know?" He swallowed deeply again. "I'm sorry."

And then, with a look of mixed confusion and sadness on his face, he leaned over across the car, and kissed her lips lightly.

Her entire body flushed and heated in surprise, but she didn't move away. It was a gentle kiss, and, cautiously, she kissed back.

As soon as he had moved away, she realized that, no matter what, it was both a first and a last kiss. A farewell.

Both of them turned their eyes away. The scenery was now washed out, the sickly color of chalk, drenched in the falling tears of rain.

* * *

Though the curtains of her four-poster were drawn tight, the bright afternoon sunlight still managed to pierce through and into her closed eyes. 

Every part of her body was heavy with exhaustion. Somehow, though the bed was soft and the blankets warm, she had been unable to sleep soundly for three nights.

She turned on her side, yanking at the blankets in frustration. Every inch of her burned with the desire to sleep, but, closing her eyes, no relief came, and when she did drift off, it was only into brief and heavy nightmares. She remembered, bitterly, the many days she had slept in this same bed, comfortable, Artibius snuggled at her shoulder.

_Things change,_ she thought, tears stinging her already burning, tired eyes. _Tong chuang, yi meng_: same bed, different dreams.

It wasn't only her dreams, however, that were different.

Around her she could hear Millicent and Dia scrawling at the massive amounts of homework they had been given for the weekend. Occasionally, they would whisper back and forth; a question or a rumor or some comment about their Christmas holidays. It was the sort of conversation Lili could no longer bring herself to have. Somehow, the words seemed to light for her heavy tongue: these were Slytherins and she was—something far worse. She retreated to her four-poster bed, Hui calling after her from the wall. She didn't answer.

He was talking to her again now. "_Xiao nu; ni cai shui jiao ma?_"

She turned over again.

"Ahh, not asleep yet," he whispered. "Good. I want to talk with you."

She didn't say anything. She heard him clear his throat and shuffle across the rice paper to the side of the frame nearest her bed.

"Dia says you—you've been very quiet lately," he said, popping a small plum in his mouth. She could tell he was arranging the words with great care and concern. "She says you haven't been yourself. And—and you haven't been sleeping. _Xiao nu_, is something bothering you? What happened during the holidays?"

She pressed her eyelids tighter together, feeling the warm tears on her cheeks. If only she could tell him: Hogwarts wasn't the same. She couldn't go back to the way things had been, though it was all she wanted in the world. She couldn't be the Queen of Slytherin, sitting in on all the gossip, starting rumors and thinking up new pranks to play on some targeted Gryffindor first-year. Every time she felt herself slipping into some old fun, something jerked her back, something cold and heavy pulling down on her left arm. Every time she looked Dia in the eyes, she wondered if her friend could see something lurking there. If she could, Lili would be mortified, ashamed. If not, Lili felt tainted by the lie. She wanted to tell someone. To tell everyone. But she couldn't. And if she did, who would understand? Any decent Slytherin would be repulsed or reverent: she wasn't strong enough to deal with either.

Only two people knew what had changed her: she was forbidden from all but the barest friendship with one. And the other—

She bit her tongue hard in her mouth to keep from sobbing.

The other had completely ignored her.

Snape had not so much as glanced at her since her return. No detentions, no extra credits, no after-hours potion-making. It was as if he, too, knew nothing. He had promised to help her, to do _anything_ to help her.

But he, too, walked about as if nothing had changed, partnering her with Harry Potter and sniffing over their potions with poison in his eyes. He complimented her coolly. He cursed Potter. But there was nothing more, nothing different.

And everything inside her was too different to handle this.

"_Xiao nu_, did something happen while you were with the Malfoys," Hui continued. She could hear the rice paper crackling as he shifted his weight. "Are you still feeling ill? I don't understand why you don't talk to me."

Silence. She pressed down hard on her heart to keep it from exploding.

"_Ni yiqian lao gen wo tan tan a,"_ he complained.

She knew she could no longer keep the sobs quiet. Blood pounding in her ears, she sat up and tore the curtains open, meeting Hui's black-ink eyes a severe gaze. "Maybe things aren't the same as they were before!" she spat, standing and pulling her robes close around her. "And speak English, for Merlin's sake! We're not—in—China—anymore—" Her voice fell off, shaking in sobs.

Hui stared back at her in disbelief, ink-lined hands limp at his sides.

She turned, and, uncertain as to where she was going, ran towards the door, ripping it open wildly.

To her surprise, a tall, warm figure stood in her way, hand outstretched as if to knock.

"Oh, Miss Lee," said Headmaster Dumbledore, eyes wide behind his moon-shaped spectacles. He smiled.

Lili looked up at him, mouth open on its hinges, heart still pounding. "Head--Headmaster?"

Dia and Millicent were looking at Dumbledore with similar disbelief. It had been quite a long time since the Headmaster had visited Slytherin. Well, actually, no one was quite sure they _did_ remember him ever visiting Slytherin.

He offered the other two girls quick smiles before turning his gentle, blue gaze back to Lili. "Miss Lee. What an odd coincidence. I was just coming to see you."

Breath stopped cold in her throat. "To see—me?" She did her best to seem nonchalant in wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Yes, I think it's time we talked. Would you join me for an afternoon tea?"

Blood drummed in Lili's ears. _He had found out_. Snape had told him—this was it. She was going to be expelled. She nodded, following him out the door and into the hall.

He turned back to her with the kind of smile that, surprisingly, could still put her more at ease. "Perhaps, Miss Lee, we best take our tea in my office, away from prying eyes. And ears."

He was just as aware as she that Dia and Millicent had their ears pressed against the door. There was the sound of rapid scuffling away as Dumbledore said this.

Lili followed him down the stairs and out through the common room, painfully aware of every probing glance that trailed her like a shadow.

* * *

Despite the bright light beating in through the thin window of Dumbledore's office, the air about her was still heavy with cold and, breathing out, she could see her breath jump up in puffs of white. Dumbledore levitated a cup of tea across his desk and into her hands. The dark blue porcelain radiated warmth. 

"I'm sure it's not like what you were used to in China," Dumbledore said, flicking his wand at the teapot, causing it to pour another cup. "I really found the tea there quite extraordinary."

She nodded, silent, hands shaking but gripping the cup firmly. She leaned down and blew on the hot liquid, causing a rush of warm steam to billow up in front of her face. The sudden heat sent shivers down her already tense muscles.

"So tell me, Miss Lee," he said, lifting his cup from its saucer and settling down behind his desk with a smile. "How were your holidays?"

She wriggled in her seat slightly, taking a sip of tea out of frustration. It was bitter and tasteless, but the heat filled her and calmed the roiling of her stomach. She forced a wan smile. "Um…they were nice. The Malfoys were very…hospitable." She hoped it hadn't sounded as sarcastic outside of her head as it did inside. "And you, Headmaster? How were your holidays?"

His eyes twinkled like hot, blue stones. "Oh, I made out like a bandit. Why, look at these!" He hefted his feet onto the desk and, as his robes slid down to reveal his ankles, she spied a pair of thick socks, garish yellow and covered with all types of odd astrological symbols Lili didn't recognize. "Wool socks," he explained with a broad grin. "They were a gift from Professor Trelawney. She was most adamant that they were the best color and material for me during this present alignment of the heavens." He chuckled a bubbling sort of laugh. "Lucky me."

She grinned as the Headmaster took his feet down from the desk and leaned back slightly in her chair. Despite all the vitriolic Slytherin rhetoric about Dumbledore, he certainly could make her feel comfortable. And, at the moment, there was nothing that could have made her more grateful.

A silence set in, and the Dumbledore merely sipped at his tea, letting his eyes wander around his office, resting on a sleeping Fawkes, and, occasionally flitting over her warmly. She went on, trying to drink her tea and pretend she wasn't petrified of what was coming...

"I heard, Miss Lee, that you were rather ill over the holidays," he said at last, eyes still fixed across the room on the dozing phoenix. "I trust you've quite recovered your strength?"

"Um, yes, Headmaster. I'm feeling much better, thank you." For a split second she wondered how he'd know about her illness but guessed at the answer quickly enough.

"Good," he said with a sigh, and, as he turned his head slowly towards her, she was surprised to notice that the twinkle in his eyes had disappeared, replaced with a solid gravity. Her heart sank.

"You'll need all the strength you can get, Miss Lee. _All _of it."

She set the porcelain cup down in its saucer with a slight clink. Her heart was beating slow, in violent, shivering bursts. "Then—you know. Professor Snape told you." Her voice, though at first strong, sank into a tremulous whisper.

Dumbledore said nothing, merely turned his solemn gaze away once more, setting it heavily on Fawkes.

Even Dumbledore could find no words for his disappointment. Even he, so kind and open, could offer her no word of support or encouragement. Inwardly, she cursed Snape for telling him; but, more strongly, she cursed herself. Tears rolled hot down her cheeks, and she found herself once more shaken by sobs. _It's over, Lili. You've destroyed your own future. What now?_

And then an even harsher thought stabbed through her mind.

_He'll turn you in_.

She was a Death Eater: how could he not turn her over to the Ministry? And she knew what that meant. Azkaban. For life; --or what little there would be of life for her there. She shivered and the tears poured out more readily. She crumpled forward, body jerking violently.

And then, suddenly, the cold silence erupted with the most beautiful and unearthly sound she had ever before heard. It was strong and yet somehow light and smooth, as if someone had changed the beauty of silk into music. She lifted her head, and her swollen eyes met Fawkes the phoenix, who had swooped down onto the desk in front of her and was singing, beak open wide, beautiful eyes staring at her with a piercing warmth. The tears froze on her cheeks, and she swallowed the last of her sobs. In every note of his song she heard a comforting voice. _Everthing will be fine._ And then, as she met the phoenix's eyes, lips trembling, she heard it even more strongly. _You have a good heart_. She sat back in her seat, stunned and in reverent awe. Fawkes, flapped forward and, landing in her lap, nestled against her and stopped singing.

Though the song had stopped, the heavy, cold air seemed to have cleared from the room, and she could still hear the hope of its exquisite notes echoing in her ears. She looked up and met Dumbledore's solemn blue eyes with as much strength as she could muster. "I'll leave Hogwarts, of course. And, if I could, please let me speak to my father before you—" But, even with a phoenix song fresh in her ears, she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Dumbledore leaned forward and steepled his fingers below his lips, eyes darting between Lili and Fawkes, who was now dozing in her lap. "I don't think, Miss Lee, that will be necessary."

"What do you mean?" Her heart was pumping blood under her skin. Her brow furled. "Did Professor Snape tell you—everything?" She hoped and prayed now that he had. How could she bring herself to tell him, Headmaster Dumbledore; the man who had been the tireless opponent of You-Know-Who (of _Voldemort_, she corrected herself firmly); the man who had spent his whole life trying to ensure that the Dark Lord did not triumph-- what words did she have for him? "I—I'm a D--"

"Yes, Miss Lee," Dumbledore interrupted, seeming unwilling to hear her say the words. "Professor Snape told me everything. Including, you might be interested to know, that he was willing to go to Voldemort himself to ask that you be let out of your role in the Dark Lord's service."

Lili's skin grew hot and her lips parted helplessly. "Wh-what? He—he said that?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I advised him that this, of course, was a hasty and rather unwise course of action."

Lili let out a thin breath of relief. She could only imagine the consequences of such an action. She couldn't imagine why he would have even considered—

"He also mentioned," Dumbledore continued, cutting off her thought, "that the Mark was put on your skin against your will. That is, you had no other choice." He looked at her very closely, and she was, for a moment, sure she saw a remnant of that warm sparkle leap back into his gaze. "He said you have a good heart and a rare mind and that you, like so many, have been drawn into a net which, perhaps, you would not have found yourself in under better circumstances."

She nodded. At least Dumbledore knew that. She pressed her lips tighter, glad that she had Snape to tell Dumbledore afterall. He had been—very generous. "So—what _will_ I do? If you don't want me to leave Hogwarts, and you're not going to—to—" Even now she had to pull in a heavy breath to manage the words. "To turn me in. What's to be done with me?"

Dumbledore sat in silence for a long while, looking down at his cup of tea as if hoping to divine some answers from the depth of the brown liquid. Her heart sank realizing that even Dumbledore had no easy solution.

"I think, Miss Lee, there is a great deal of hope for you," he said at last, not lifting his eyes to her but keeping them on the teacup. "I have seen many turn to darkness and never look back." He shook his head, and, looked, at that moment, quite old. "Too many. Too many good people."

There was a moment more silence, before he breathed in deeply and finally, met her gaze. "But I have also seen such people, like you, who turn back. And, in my experience, those are the type who will battle most fiercely, sacrifice themselves to fight against the darkness." He considered this a moment. "Probably because they know its power only too well."

Her hands were shaking, and she tried to steady them by running them lightly along Fawkes' smooth, red feathers. "I—I don't want to be—" She swallowed. In front of Dumbledore, to say the words "Death Eater" seemed too much like cursing. "I don't want my life to be ruled by…by anyone but myself."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, leaning forward. "Then, I believe, you have three options, Miss Lee," he said, his voice an uneven, heavy sigh. "All equally unpleasant, I will admit. And all quite dangerous."

She could say nothing, only nodding for him to continue.

"Your first option you have, no doubt, considered," he said, steepling his fingers once more. "You could run. Perhaps back to China, perhaps not since that would be a bit obvious. But you can leave Hogwarts if you choose, and leave England. And, I assure you, I would see that you were protected as far as my reach extends and to whatever degree possible."

Her stomach turned. "Professor Snape said that running wouldn't work."

"And he's likely right," Dumbledore answered, looking grim. "No one has ever been able to run from Voldemort for long, especially those in his service. That Mark is more than a symbol of loyalty, Miss Lee," he said, frowning briefly at the crook of her left forearm now hidden beneath robes and a cloak. "It is filled with magic I don't fully understand. But it is connected to Voldemort, and he will use it to find you and to torture you. Running, though it seems easy, would be as dangerous as remaining. It would simply put your uncertainty on a longer timeline."

She nodded.

"The second option," Dumbledore continued, looking even unhappier about this one, "is to attempt to play your way out of favor with the Dark Lord." His voice creaked, uncertain.

'What do you mean, 'play my way out of favor'?" She leaned forward, hopeful.

He sighed. "Bungle things up. Make yourself look less attractive to him: less intelligent, less powerful –less the perfect Slytherin."

She swallowed. She had considered this as well, with none too much relish. "I—I'm not sure I would know how." In her lap, Fawkes cooed and turned over, a small ball of feathered heat.

"Yes, this option is far more dangerous than running," he said, his long, thin fingers tracing the lip of his porcelain teacup bleakly. "It is a fine line to walk. And there is certainly nothing to keep him from merely killing you rather than deciding to forget about you. As you might have noticed, the Dark Lord uses all the resources given him, though they are not the most intelligent or perfect. And, when they are no longer useful, he has no reason to keep them alive."

She blanched.

"It is a horrifying way of thinking, but it is all too real in the world of Dark Magic."

Her heart seemed to have stopped altogether, and the blood was thick and cold in her veins. "And my last option?" Her lips could barely move, breath escaping her in a whisper.

Dumbledore was quiet, and stood, moving to the thin and shining window, his gait that of a man delivering a death sentence.

Lili took a deep breath and pushed her fingers deeper into Fawkes' warm, reassuring feathers.

"Your last option is perhaps the most dangerous and difficult of all."

Her heart gave a single thump, then returned to its heavy sleep.

"You could, if you chose, use your misfortune to benefit the greater good," he said, leaning forward in the window, his back to her. "You could turn informant for the Ministry, pass along what information you get from Voldemort and the other Death Eaters." He paused. "It has been done before and to our great advantage."

Her heart jumped into life once more, blood pounding again, color returning to her icy skin. "What—you mean—be a spy?"

Dumbledore turned towards her, his form silhouetted in the quickly waning daylight outside. "Yes, of a sort. It means you will have to turn yourself in to the Ministry; but I will speak on your behalf. They will make sure no one knows."

She swallowed, her dry throat contracting. "But—how can I—it must be impossible," she said at last, leaning back and moving her hand lightly from Fawkes' plumage to her lips. "What if—what if they ask me to help them with _wuzhang_? What if they ask me to _kill_?" She looked up at Dumbledore frantically.

He pressed his lips together, and his shoulders lifted with a solemn sigh. "It is an incredible sacrifice. Your life would becomes a balancing act between two worlds. You would constantly be forced to play a part in a very serious game. It is likely such an option would end in a very terrible death. You would be faced with many volatile situations, many chances to give yourself away." He paused, considering this. "But you must know something of putting on faces. It is a Slytherin survival skill, or so Severus tells me."

She pressed her back hard against her chair as if, otherwise, she might fall out of it. "I—I don't think I could do that. I mean, Slytherin games are one thing. This is entirely another."

He nodded, stepping forward and putting his long, gnarled hands on the back of his chair. "Yes. It is very difficult and very serious. I'm afraid, Miss Lee, it's the last option I have to offer you." His eyes met her, and they were twinkling again, this time full of warm concern.

She straightened her back, feeling a frantic wish to bury herself in her bed once more. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her mind and the frantic beating of her heart. "How could I go through my life pretending to be something I'm not? How could I look into those horrible red eyes and not feel naked and revealed? How could anyone _do_ it?"

For the first time since the woolen socks, Dumbledore's face lit up with a smile. "Honestly, Miss Lee, I have no idea," he said, shaking his head. "Perhaps you should ask Professor Snape."


	15. No Words

_Chapter Fifteen:_ No Words

He was bent over his desk, a thin and dark figure bowed by the heavy cold of the dungeons. He had not looked up at the creaking of the door as she opened it, and his hands went on, dipping his quill in severe, red ink and scrawling across the pieces of parchment arrayed before him.

Lili froze in the doorway, watching, teeth bit hard into her lip. It was very late, but she'd known he would still be here, working.

He gave no indication that he was aware of her presence. She leaned forward, looking past the black hair hanging limp about his face, trying to find the dark of his eyes. Somehow, she thought, if she could get even a glimpse of his gaze, she would know exactly what she was in for: she would know what it meant to take that last option Dumbledore had offered her: --and she could wisely and whole-heartedly refuse.

"Mister Potter, don't you think it's a bit late to be wandering the castle?"

His voice startled her, and she jumped back as if to hide.

The quill clicked lightly against the desk, his robes shuffling towards her. She stood, cowed in the doorway.

His voice was low and dangerous as he rounded on her, seeming to expect a terrific triumph. "After all, you've stolen my fairywing alread—"

His taut smirk and arched eyebrows crashed back into the dark-lined frown of his face, and, for a moment, Lili wished she _had_ been Harry Potter just to save him from the disappointment.

"Oh, Miss Lee," he stood taller, clearing his throat purposefully and doing his best to seem annoyed rather than startled. "It's too late to be roaming about empty classrooms, Miss Lee. I expect that sort of thing from Potter, not from you." He turned away and rounded the corner once more, reclaiming his seat and plucking the quill from its well decisively. It was not an invitation.

It was the same act he'd been putting on ever since she'd returned; pretending nothing had happened, acting as though she was just another seventh-year Slytherin he put up with in Potions. She shuddered even harder, wondering how he could do this—wondering if she had been foolish to assume he was...looking out for her.

She wasn't certain whether it was because of the late hour or because they were alone, but he seemed to be having a more difficult time of pretending than usual.

"Actually, Professor, I was hoping to speak with you." Her voice seemed to rise small and timid, freezing in the dark air just as her breath did. She stepped into the room far enough to see him fully, hunched over his work, trying to pay her little mind.

"If I'm not mistaken, Miss Lee, our powers of speech will still be here in the morning. I was just about to retire for the night, after I grade the remainder of these essays." He didn't look up.

Part of her wished to grab him and shake him, demanding that he stop pretending and act as he had at their meetings on Malfoy Manor. She stepped forward, thinking of laying a hand on his shoulder, but quickly decided against it. "Professor, I—" She swallowed. "I spoke with Headmaster Dumbledore this afternoon."

He paused a moment, the mad scrawling of the quill falling silent. For that brief moment, she knew he was processing and understanding what she said.

For that brief moment, his mask slipped.

He picked up the quill again and continued. "I see."

"He said I should come speak to you."

He tried to seem unperturbed, but Lili noticed him shift in the chair, breathing in deeply. "And what did you do? Do I need to arrange a detention?"

She closed her eyes, surprised to feel tears wetting her lashes. "Please—Professor. I need to speak with you. About—" Her throat was wrung. "_Please_." The last word shook itself from her, so frail in the heavy air that it cracked, half-twisted in a sob. She opened her eyes again, praying that no tears would fall.

But Snape was looking at her now, quill abandoned on his desk, pale face glowing at hers in the dark. He searched her, and she steadied herself, doing her best to imitate his stoicism.

After a moment, he swallowed deeply and nodded. "Please, take a seat, Miss Lee."

Too tired to reach for her wand, she opted for the more pedestrian act of carrying a chair to the front of the class. Hesitating for a moment, she laid the chair beside him rather than across the imposing surface of the desk. If he objected, he gave no sign. She sat, laying her hands in her lap lightly and doing her best not to fidget. _Just tell him. Tell him, and for Merlin's sake, don't go to pieces about it._

His eyes met hers, and, for the first time, Lili felt it-- the full weight of what he carried. He hadn't given it away all at once, but, piece-by-piece, she had understood his burden. It stared at her now, cool and questioning, and, she realized with some dismay, afraid.

Snape was afraid.

She swallowed again.

"I—Well—" She stopped herself, realizing that she was already fidgeting, wringing her laced fingers wildly. She blinked long, trying to clear her thoughts. _Just tell him what Dumbledore said. Just tell him and watch his eyes…_

She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to sit straighter. "It seems, according to the Headmaster, I have three options."

Snape nodded, silent. He had turned towards her, his own hands in his lap. He did not fidget.

"It seems I can run away--"

His eyes were flat and motionless.

"Or try and play my way out of the Dark Lord's favor—"

His stare was steady.

She gave a long, meaningful pause. "Or, I can remain a Death Eater and become a double agent, telling the Ministry everything I find out while in the Circle." The words tumbled out, and she cursed herself for letting them slip so desperately.

The strange cloud that rolled over Snape's eyes reminded Lili of the loud and horrible thunderstorms they'd had during the spring in China, when the skies grew so black she thought the sun had been drowned. The lines of his face darkened, opening channels of shadow that seemed to run as deep as veins. The corners of his mouth sank, and, for a moment, Lili feared he might send her away. But he merely sat, silent, looking like a man utterly lost in the darkness of his own thoughts.

For a long time they sat, neither watching the other. Lili rubbed her palms together, going over in her mind all the things she could say: none of them seemed appropriate. After all, what did she want from him? What _could_ he say? And, more pressingly, would he even be willing to say _anything_? The chill of every breath sat heavy in her lungs.

Snape sighed, his long fingers raising from his lap and bracing against the desk gently. "I see."

The cold air lay between them as thick and severe as a wall, and Lili felt the heaviness within her redouble. _He's not going to say anything_, she thought biting her tongue in frustration, but refusing to give up. She wasn't going to let him stay quiet, not this time. She straightened even more. "I—I'm thinking of taking that last option."

He still would not look up, dark eyes now sunk on his own hands, fingers delicately tracing along the edge of the desk.

"But, I—" She stopped.

He looked up now, dark eyes flashing with the glint of a distant torch.

_Just tell him._ "I'm very afraid."

Now that he was watching her, she wished he wasn't. His eyes had given over to tracing, examining every inch of her face, and she could feel the weight he carried in his gaze. _Someday,_ she thought, with a fluttering of her heart, _someday my eyes will be like his. Black, clouded, and barely able to lift from the ground._ Suddenly, she stood, desperate to break from the scrutiny.

"I—I want to," she turned away from him, trying to talk her way out of the discomfort. "I want some good to come of this: but—I—I don't think I can do it." She ventured a look over her shoulder, and saw that he too had turned away, eyes once again, dark and pained, on himself. "I don't think I can be as brave as you."

They were strange words, and not ones she had planned to say. But watching him, long, thin neck arched down from the weight of his gaze, the words sprang from her mouth, and she knew them at once to be true.

He gave a small, sarcastic chuckle and shook his head sharply. "Oh, Miss Lee. You _do_ have a lot to learn if you call it 'brave.'"

She stepped towards him, only vaguely aware of what she was doing. She reached out, quivering, and touched his long-fingered hands. "Well, then, teach me. Please."

He recoiled quickly, pushing away from her, his hooked nose turned and silhouetted in the little torchlight that danced through the room. "Miss Lee—" He paused. "Lili."

It jarred her not only to hear him say her name but to hear how he said it. The word itself seemed almost too heavy for his lips.

"What do you want to know?" It was a whisper, but it seemed to echo from the dungeon walls.

It hit Lili's ears with a soft force, and she sat down once more, leaning in towards him, though not close enough to make either of them uncomfortable. "I want to know whatever you'll tell me."

He nodded, and sat back in his chair, stiff and looking more troubled than Lili had ever seen him. He seemed to be fighting himself with every word, and, all at once, she wished there was some way she might spare him.

But she could not.

His fingers had gone back to tracing the edge of the desk, and she watched them, long and thin, shaking ever so slightly. "I can only tell you of my experience, Lili. And even of that—I cannot tell you everything."

She kept her eyes on his fingers. "You can trust me," she said quietly, trying as hard as she could to make it less painful for him.

"I know," he said, with a sigh. "I know I can trust you. I _have_trusted you. But there are some things a man—cannot—let pass his lips."

"'_There are also some things he won't reveal even to his friends, only to himself perhaps, and even then, in secret,_'" she quoted gently, remembering _Notes_.

He nodded.

Lili laid her hands in her lap once more, but had given over to fidgeting unashamedly.

Snape let out a long sigh and began.

"My life before Hogwarts was, shall we say, unimportant. Suffice it to say, my family –or rather my father and I, for my mother had died giving birth—were neither poor nor excessively rich, the Snapes, of course, having had an adequate sum of money left from dealings with the goblins some years back. I was never in want of anything—well, anything material." He paused for a breath, and Lili understood that, though she wanted to pursue this, it was not a door that would be open to her.

"I arrived at Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin. It would not have surprised those who knew me if, indeed, there had been anyone who knew me. I am not, as you might have noticed, of an exceedingly social nature, and had no childhood friends before Hogwarts. I had spent most of my younger years locked in my small attic room in the wizarding town of Blattersfield reading books and practicing my hexes. Oh, and I was ambitious; by Circe, I was. I practiced, wanting nothing more than to be the Minister of Magic, or, more if possible. I imagined my attic room as a lavish palace, with me as a benevolent but powerful ruler." His eyes darted to her, and she saw, even in the cold of the dungeons, a blush shoot through his sallow cheeks. She gave only a small grin, trying her best not to embarrass him further. "Yes, well, as a young boy, such dreams don't seem as foolish. Ambition can be limitless—and mine was, even if it was in secret. So, I suppose, it was no mistake that I ended up in Slytherin."

"But things weren't easy for me. I excelled in academics but had little success making friends. I told myself I didn't need friends, but, secretly, I planned ways to impress the other Slytherins, especially one Lucius Malfoy who was, then, the most popular Slytherin in my year." He sighed, leaning back. "And eventually, towards the end of my second year, I managed by casting a rather nasty curse on a fourth-year Hufflepuff." His eyes met hers briefly, as he explained. "Slick Soles Hex as he was standing up from the table in the Great Hall. He slipped and slid all over the place, nearly broke his leg." He looked away again, eyes clouding over at the memory. "He had been rather unpopular with Malfoy at the time, having stolen from him the heart of a rather lovely first-year Slytherin girl by the name of Narcissa Balin. After this spectacle, Narcissa redirected her affections, and Malfoy and his gang proved very grateful new friends."

"These new friends were ambitious like me," he continued, his fingers no longer tracing the desk's edge, but lazily draped across the end of his knee. "But I had never been around people like this. Walden Macnair, whose father held a prestigious Ministry position in the bureau of Magical Law Enforcement. Jeremiah Avery, of the illustrious Avery house: that family had money left over from times no one could recall, though by this time they had squandered much of it. Patricia Parkinson—then Patricia LeDann. The LeDanns owned a very popular chain of wizarding stores: I'm sure you've never heard of them, but travel down Knockturn Alley sometime—you'll see what sort I mean. And then of course, there was Malfoy. I needn't tell you anything about that family, for I'm sure you've either been told or guessed at enough on your own."

She nodded, trying not to think about that black castle so far away, still casting shadows deep in her mind.

"I surrounded myself with a very powerful crowd, telling myself that this was the best way to achieve the goals I had set. But I also knew that, without them, I was nothing. It was difficult, to feel at once powerful and powerless. Even then as 'friends,' they treated much as they still do. I was a runt. I couldn't fly to save my life, and I certainly wasn't interested in much of the gossip. I was always quiet and bookish—and that's a mark against you in those circles. Lucius Malfoy may collect a good deal of books, but he's never unfashionable enough to be caught reading them."

Lili grunted, having thought the same thing many times sitting in his vast and yet dust-veiled library.

"It was only by being around them that I wasn't completely shunned in Slytherin. And they tolerated me for my knowledge and my utility, despite my lack of social background and my tendencies toward academia and melancholy. And then, I did something even worse. In my fifth-year, I was partnered with a hopeless Gryffindor girl, Lily Evans, in Potions. She was horrible, and the Professor at the time asked me to tutor her. She was—very pretty, very sweet, and very open: things I told myself I hated. But, unfortunately, she was also incredibly understanding. And she could listen: she listened to every story I told her about Slytherin, and every story I told her about Malfoy and what he'd said or done to me. And she always said I should stand up to him—I shouldn't let him treat me that way. She often threatened that if I wouldn't, she would. It was something no one had ever said to me: as if I was worth standing up for. Well, it wasn't long before I was head-over-heels, of course. I watched her in the halls, in those afternoon study sessions, and during meals—watched her with _him_--" Snape's voice became suddenly quite fierce. "James Potter." The name shot from his mouth too fast and hot to freeze in the thick cold of the dungeon air. "He was after her too, and everyone knew it. He was a star Quidditch player and the most popular boy in the school. His family had money, Merlin knows from where. That bastard wouldn't have known a dark thought if it had fallen from the heavens and bit him in the arse. Of course she'd choose him, I told myself. And more's the pity for her." He shook his head, fierceness in his eyes dulling. "Well, I told myself this again and again. And again and again I tutored her in the afternoons and saw her smile at me, and lean next to me as we stirred the cauldrons—" He stopped, as if it was only now he realized he was speaking to Lili, a student. He seemed to stiffen and continued on, glossing over what she knew to be the painful or tender parts. "Well, perhaps she might have felt something towards me, but, I—eventually I came to terms with the fact that Potter would get the girl; as he got everything else. So, I turned my shoulder to her, I even—I even played some rather nasty practical jokes on her. This played out very well in the eyes of the Slytherins, but I—I don't think I'll ever—Well," he sighed, and Lili could hear the quivering of his breath as he fought back some deeper sadness. "Potter ended up with her. I told myself to forget about her and concentrate on keeping my relations in Slytherin. I sunk myself deeper and deeper in—into the inner workings of the House, and into my own resentment and hate—and eventually, I found myself graduating and at a very secret meeting."

"It was the sort of meeting I'm sure you now understand; the sort of meeting where everyone wears black and hides their faces for fear. It was, Lucius assured me, the way everyone who knew how to get anywhere was turning. And that was when I first looked on Voldemort." Snape swallowed, his left hand balling loosely in a fist. "Of course the name had been whispered about Slytherin. Deaths had already begun, and the Mark was known. In the protected stone walls of Slytherin these were whispers of a nameless fear; but, face to face with him, we were promised power, prestige, honor—the chance to change the face of the wizarding world." Snape's black eyes darted to her, piercing. "I have no doubt you heard much the same words yourself."

She nodded, her mouth going dry to remember.

"At that time, I licked up every damned word that fell from his lips. I wanted those things: I wanted to get things as easily as some Gryffindor Quidditch star. I wanted to be able to teach people like James Potter and his friends that _I_ had power too: that, even without a throng of followers, _I_ was a force to be reckoned with. So I joined the Dark Lord, and I took the Mark with relish." His voice was growing fierce again, but this time, it was harsher—directed at himself. "I climbed the ranks quickly—climbed in ways I won't ever speak of: only Dumbledore knows the full horror of it all, and even he will never really _know_. I will tell you nothing of the years between except that, had you met me then, you would not have recognized me. I was lean and hungry and the most despicable of men."

His fist was balled tightly now, and, for a moment, Lili feared he might actually physically strike at himself. She wondered to herself if he ever had. Quivering, she laid a hand out and touched his flexing and corded arm. He pulled away, but more gently this time, his lips white as chalk. "No, please, Miss Lee, let me finish."

She wondered why he had switched back to her last name but decided not to press it.

He seemed to calm a bit, sitting back and letting his hand fall loosely across the edge of the desk. "And then, almost twenty years ago, something quite odd happened. Lily Evans—now Potter—came back into my life. Not in person, of course, but her name popped up quite suddenly one night, in the midst of all those hoods and black. The Dark Lord wanted Lily and James Potter. He wanted everyone to be listening for where they might be hiding. Everyone was to be seeking them—in every way possible. I had no idea what he might want with them—especially with her; but I knew it couldn't be pleasant. The thought brought back so many memories, and, more importantly, it brought back a part of who I had been. Suddenly, I began to look at what I was doing. I couldn't sleep. I pictured what they might do when they found her."

"But why did I care, I would tell myself, trying to shake it off. What did some stupid Gryffindor Mudblood matter to me? I was successful; I was powerful. If she had ended up on the wrong side, why should I care?"

He sighed. "But I cared because she had once cared. I cared because that stupid Gryffindor had, so long ago, cared enough to want to stand up for _me_. The thought tormented me and then, one night, the memory brought back enough of my former self that I was determined to do it, to turn myself in. Somehow, however, I ended up back here. Back at Hogwarts, standing in the Entrance Hall, dripping from rain and well, to be honest, crying."

"I don't know exactly what made me come here or at what point I decided that this was my destination," he said shaking his head, mouth stretching across his face in a flat-lipped frown. "I can only suppose it was my natural cowardice: too scared to _really_ turn myself in but too determined not to remain where I was. So, I stood in the Entrance Hall until Minerva McGonagall found me and led me up to Dumbledore. And there I poured out my story, after which, well, suffice it to say, it ended in much the same way yours did, though after much graver discussions, I should think. I was given the same options. I chose the only one I could: the most dangerous and most sure to get me killed. For what reason did I deserve to live? And, if I would be allowed to live—if I was to be spared Azkaban—I had to have something, some punishment. So I decided to sacrifice my life in the longest and most frightening way. And I did. I did for almost two years before he finally found Lily and James Potter. And I have done my best ever since then: turning in those I could. Waiting: knowing the Dark Lord would return. I would have gone back to it, too, if I could."

Lili furled her brow, sitting up. "What do you mean 'would have'?" She had been under the impression that Snape was still acting as an informant—why else would he have been allowed in the Death Eater meeting? Why else would Malfoy have invited him to the Manor?

Snape breathed out, seeming exhausted. "Well, you see, when the Dark Lord returned, oh, about three years ago, he got wind of my working here. Apparently he also heard some rumors about my allegiance to Dumbledore. I went to him. He confronted me, asking me if it was true. Needless to say, I told him it wasn't. I tried to convince him that it was an advantage, my working at Hogwarts, so close to Dumbledore and to—Harry Potter. And my cruelty to my students and continued allegiance to Slytherin through all those years paid off. It gave the perfect illusion that I had not changed my loyalties or my ways. He did not kill me, but my days as one of the closest to him were over." His fingers tapped at the table for a moment, and he considered this. "I am still a Death Eater, but I am no longer trusted as I once was. Anything truly important is discussed without me. I pass the Dark Lord small tidbits of information—apocryphal of course—so he tolerates me. None of my former friends trust me either: once again I've been pushed to the outside and tolerated for my utility."

Lili nodded. "That's why Malfoy warned me not to trust you. He seemed to think I oughtn't be talking to you." Her heart sank, realizing that, if she did accept this option—

Snape interrupted the thought. "Yes, I'd imagine he'd warn you. And that's the reason I've been—somewhat less than cordial with you." He met her eyes with a strong severity, one he had earlier seemed too tired to muster. "Lili, in your position, to seem too close to me would be—a mistake. The eyes of Voldemort are tireless and always watching."

But she had already understood this, and was swallowing the sobs that twisted in her throat. She bit her bottom lip hard, nodding.

"The game I'm playing now, Lili, is much more dangerous than ever before." The low, conspiratorial whisper barely seemed strong enough to reach her ears. "_I_ am no longer trusted, but I have managed to turn one of those who is. She reports to me, and I to the Ministry and Dumbledore. It is a thin rope to walk: I must be sure not to incriminate her enough for the Dark Lord to suspect." He paused, as if considering whether to say the next bit. "Junia Bell is currently playing the very game which you now consider taking up."

Lili's mind raced, and she remembered the name, matching it with a face: the dark-skinned woman from New Year's Eve. She and Snape had spoken; rather scathingly, if memory served. She looked up at Snape in wonder. Now she understood how good he was—and indeed how good that woman had been. No one could have suspected. She also understood how Snape had known so quickly about what happened after he left that night. She felt blood heating beneath her skin. "How—how can I do it? I don't think I could ever pretend that way; I don't think I _want_ to." She wondered what she would have done in that situation, sitting across from Snape, watched. Well, she didn't have to wonder. She had gone red that night, and there had been very little indeed at stake, at least, comparatively. "I don't think I can do something so…difficult."

Snape breathed in deeply, his eyes drifting over her and then turning away towards the dark corners of the dungeons. "It _is_ very difficult—and dangerous. You can't imagine the tortures Voldemort reserves for traitors: I've seen them." He sighed. "And felt them."

There was a short quiet, and Lili felt her stomach churn. Snape was fingering his left arm again, eyes fixed far away, glints of torchlight tossing across them almost as fiercely as her insides tumbled in her. "But it's more than just _that_ danger. There's always danger from the Ministry as well. There were many at the Ministry who wanted to see me hanged—rightly so. And they never stopped insisting that I be dragged to court or Azkaban, no matter how many vital pieces of information I passed along." He paused. "And then, of course, well—it's an exceedingly lonely place, Lili. I could never attach myself to anyone, in case I was found out. Besides, even if I could have, who would have understood? Who could I have talked with and not felt as if I was deceiving them horribly? I simply—lost the ability to—"

"To lead a normal life," Lili said, her voice barely able to wrench itself through the tight, dryness of her throat. "Yes, I think I've already lost that. Ever since I came back from Malfoy Manor—I can't go back to being the way I was. I've tried. But—" She stopped, her words beginning to shake with the sobs she fought down so desperately.

Snape gave her a nod that told her he understood. "Miss Lee—" Once again he had returned to the less familiar form of address. "I don't think you should do this. I have already told Headmaster Dumbledore that, if you run, I will do my best to make sure Voldemort does not pursue you. I spoke to Malfoy after I spoke to you on New Year's Day. I pretended you had told me nothing, but _did_ say that I thought you were not really cut out to do anything of any importance; that you simply didn't have a strong enough constitution for it. If you ran now, this would confirm what I said. You might have a chance of slipping away without seeming much of a loss or an out-and-out traitor. It's certainly the best way for you to get out of this alive." His eyes met hers, questioning.

She listened to every word he said, heart torn between joy and reluctance. She couldn't believe he'd had the forethought to do that: --she was lucky. Perhaps, with him to downplay her importance, she could get far enough away that Voldemort would give up, thinking her not worth the effort. Images of Zhong Mo Xue filled her mind, and her lips tingled with the unfamiliar feeling of a smile. She remembered the thick, sweeping red rafters; the classrooms wound in squares; the delicate feel of the bamboo chopsticks in her hand. And her friends. Perhaps with them she could go back to normal; she could sink back into that normal life and forget—eventually—about all this. To be back home seemed the most pleasant thing imaginable, and, all at once, blood pounding, she felt happier than she had in many weeks.

But somewhere, deep in the pit of her heart, she understood something else.

She could run to China. Perhaps he wouldn't pursue her. Perhaps he'd even forget. But, a war was coming: everyone in the wizarding world knew it. Lines were being drawn, the pieces were lining up on both sides of the board. And, if the war was lost to that Black King, hiding in China would do no good. His shadow would spread there, as it spread everywhere—and no one would escape.

"_No_." Her voice was the firmest it had been since she had told her father she would not transfer out of Slytherin.

Snape sat back, face expressionless. "No?"

She shook her head, fingers wound tightly in her lap. "No. I won't run. I won't and I can't."

He looked at her but said nothing.

She leaned forward, fear and uncertainty tingling through her veins, heart hammering against her stomach. "I can't just turn my back, not when I'm in a position which could possibly prove a great advantage to everyone—"

"Everyone but you, Lili," Snape reminded her gently.

She pressed her lips together, her heart lurching as he said this. The idea was terrifying her. She was imagining the best and worst possible scenarios, her mind rushing in blurs of adrenalin. She tried to still herself enough to think clearly. "But, I've put myself into this position: I've made a lot of bad choices. This won't be one of them." She realized that her hands were laced so fiercely that the knuckles were as white as her breath. She released them, feeling her muscles ache from the tension. "I may be carrying the mark of a villain, but I'll do my best to play the hero now, if I can; even if no one will ever know."

Snape's gaunt body leaned forward, the chair squeaking softly. "I'll know, Lili," he whispered, meeting her eyes and holding them in his. Lili understood suddenly that this was far more intimate than if he had reached for her hand. The dark weight of his gaze had been replaced with a soft love: she could feel those black eyes wrapping around her, comforting her in the way only an embrace might have surpassed. She watched him, remembering all at once the times they had spent together—how good he'd been to her. She traced across the contours of his sallow face with her own eyes; hooked nose, greasy skin, thin, pale lips that now, though still drawn in a frown, hinting at a subtle sincerity.

_Love is God's mystery and should be hidden from other people's eyes, no matter what happens,_ she heard him whispering from somewhere deep in the recesses of her memory.

But he had revealed it to her, fully, and she felt the drumming of the blood in her veins slow. He was showing her the most gentle and tender part of himself—he was going to be there to help her. Tears burned in her eyes.

"Professor—" Her voice was soft but burned with such earnestness that Snape seemed to hold his breath for a moment to listen. "Thank you. Thank you for everything you've done for me. I could never—I would never have survived this if it hadn't been for you. I think I might have gotten myself killed on Malfoy Manor. I—I don't know how to thank you, sir."

He straightened, breaking from her eyes and sitting straight and square, once again the Professor at his desk. "Just don't get yourself killed, Miss Lee," he said, turning his head until his face was silhouetted against a distant patch of torchlight. "That will be the only thanks I require." He was silent and seemed to think for a few minutes before adding, "It's a dangerous game we play; you'll have to learn some hard lessons—you're family for one. They'll never know. They'll think you've turned for good."

Lili nodded. She'd already considered this and was doing her best to push the idea from her mind.

"And, of course, we cannot see each other after you graduate," he said, his silhouette turning towards her, shadows dripping across his face. "Nor can you see any but your friends in Slytherin. Nor can you make any close friends." He said this wistfully, and Lili realized as he spoke that he must be horribly lonely.

All she could do was nod.

"But, I will help you when I can," he sighed, turning away from her and facing the essays stacked before him. They sat inert, seeming bleached and meaningless. "And, in emergencies, you can always contact me through the Ministry." He sneered, and his face looked oddly contorted in the torchlight. "But you'll find news travels far faster through the Circle, of course."

Lili swallowed, feeling a solid mass of sorrow rising in her throat.

"Until then, we can continue having after-hours Potions—and I can teach you all you need to know about this game you're playing," he said, picking up the quill again, letting his sad, heavy eyes fall back on the pages before him. "I will be sure you graduate with enough know-how to never need anyone but yourself."

She tried to ignore the sadness of those words. "Thank you again, Professor," she said; this was paltry thanks.

"Don't mention it, Miss Lee. Now, please, it is _quite_ late, and I must get these graded before tomorrow." He was scrawling once again, but his eyes were fixed and shadowed, and Lili could tell his thoughts were not with those essays about—she glanced over his shoulder—ingredients of common healing potions, but lost in the past: far and deep in the shadows of the past. She stood, her chair scratching against the floor loudly.

Her legs tingled and felt weak, but she steeled them, keeping her eyes on Snape. His hair was lank, tapering down about his face, only his hooked nose protruding past the black curtain. His hands wrapped around the quill, loose and delicate, and watching him, she felt her pulse quicken. _No words_, she told herself. _No words to offer him, to express her gratitude._

And then, suddenly, she found some.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Lee?" The name 'Lili' had once again disappeared, being far too painful and personal for the cold of the dungeon air.

"I know you're a hero, too, even if no one else ever will." And she did what she knew he wouldn't ever bring himself to do again. She bent down and embraced him, trying hard not to seem too awkward or pitiful.

His body remained rigid beneath her arms. She felt her heart burst, but, for the first time since Malfoy Manor, it was not from sorrow but relief. Tears burned, and, finally winning the battle, rolled down her cheeks. _Love is God's mystery and should be hidden from other people's eyes, no matter what happens._

_Perhaps this was true_, she mused, taking in the deep, spicy scents of his hair; _but there was no one else watching now_.

Snape cleared his throat softly, disentangling himself from her arms.

She stood, and met his eyes. They were gleaming, but now from a glittering mixture of torchlight and tears. He was swallowing, doing his best to banish them.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," she whispered, keeping his eyes in hers as best she could. The sight of his pale face bubbled slightly through the tears.

He looked at her, for a moment, a man completely stunned; but, quickly, finding the tears dried in his eyes, he turned back to his papers, and nodded. "Goodnight, Miss Lee."

It was as close to a 'thank you' as Severus Snape ever got.

Wiping at her eyes, Lili turned and, steeling her legs once again, walked out the door.

The halls of Hogwarts were dark—darker than they had been that first night, when she had met him and he had led her through the shadows into Slytherin. They had sat heavy upon her then, a weight not easily or gracefully borne.

She stepped into them now, ready to bear whatever might lie ahead.


End file.
